


Solitary

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Dystopia, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rescue, Smoking, Violence, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU, Nero has gone one step further.  There is no Starfleet.  Earth along with Vulcan has been destroyed.  On Prema, a dystopian Romulan planet, Jim Kirk is an inmate of a penal colony who has gone insane.  Spock Prime is his jailer.  Leonard McCoy is Spock Prime’s drug addicted lover.  Only Nero knows and Spock Prime comes to know how things should be.  Spock Prime sets about trying to make things right and Nero is determined to stop him.</p><p>WARNINGS:  Rape.  Non-con.  Dub-con.  Drug use/abuse.  Smoking.  Alcohol use/abuse.  Prostitution.  Violence. Dystopia.  Some het sex (non-con).  Triggery themes.  Some horror themes.  Graphic descriptions of sex, violence and bodily functions/fluids.</p><p>PAIRINGS:  Spock Prime/McCoy, Spock Prime/Kirk, Spock Prime/Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy, McCoy/Various</p><p>Written for:  Spock Prime Big Bang 2014<br/>Beta: petparent</p><p>Illustrations by: <br/>readyset/page41 (embedded in fic)<br/>and<br/>ochereloquence  (COMING SOON!)</p><p> </p><p>AUTHORS NOTE:  NOT COMPLETELY POSTED YET.  IN PROCESS OF BEING POSTED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the warnings on this story.  
> This is an AU.  
> This story contains: Graphic sex. graphic violence. Rape. Non-con/dub con, descriptions of bodily fluids. Prostitution. Drug Abuse. Smoking. Alcohol use/abuse. Horror themes. Dystopia.
> 
> I would like to thank: petparent, ivycross, muse, readyset and ochereloquence. I would not have been able to finish this fic without these folks!  
> Mademe Tui is stolen from the book: "Opium Fiend" by Steven Martin. His book was helpful for the drug addiction scenes.  
> I would also like to thank Chuck Wendig--when I was stuck on my fic late at night and fed up I would read his writing books to laugh and keep my sanity.

 

The moon is still up when Spock arises from his bed. He performs his ablutions quickly and quietly. He coughs and clears his throat as he does so. He attires himself in his grey uniform. He turns on the light in the kitchen cum living area of his small apartment. Illumination comes courtesy of one single dim bulb. He drinks a measure of blue ale. He smokes a cigarette. He sets the empty glass into the sink, observing the several insects scurrying and crawling around the other unwashed dishes on the kitchen counter. He pauses at the bedroom door, studies the sleeping figure for a moment before turning to leave. He grabs his cap from the nail near the front door. He goes on his way.

* 

_In most prisons across the universe, solitary confignment is mere punishment. At Que’no’na, one of the prisons of Prema, a bleak, nightmare-ish world inhabiting the Romulan empire, it is the norm._

_The Ri’hansu are known for their brutality and austerity. Their prisons, no less so. Many of the newer penal establishments have been based on an Earth Federation design by the ancient Earthman: John Haviland. Earth had long proven to be a sworn enemy of the Empire, the inhabitants animals. Nonetheless the Praetor had been intrigued by and extensively studied the old Earth ‘hub and spoke’ design: Seven cell blocks radiating out from a central guard post keeping constant watch on inmates._

_It was the most efficient and horrific prison design ever created._

_Prisons in the empire most certainly follow this model to some extent. However, they are not as brutal as Que’no’na Prison. Que’no’na Prison takes the hub and spoke design a step further, keeping each inmate entirely separated from the other._

_Upon condemnation at Bue’no’na, the new prisoner has one’s clothing removed. He or she is given a extensive and grueling physical exam. The inmate receives a number. They must remember that number, for they will never hear their name spoken aloud, again._

_The inmate is then marched naked to the outfitting room. They don a grey prison jumpsuit and socks. No bright colors are to be seen again. No underpants or shoes ever worn again._

_After processing, a grey hood is forced over the prisoner’s head. The poor soul is then lead down the grey stone corridor to their new home. Upon arrival at their cell, the hood is removed. The inmate is then pushed into the cell through the low and narrow door._

_ _

 

_In the cell, there is a hole very precisely cut into the shape of an eye in the stone ceiling. This hole is known as Shi’Tairen or ‘The Eye of the Praetor”. Its purpose, besides giving illumination from the recessed light, is to lend the inmates the overwhelming feeling that the Praetor is watching their every move. In the cell, there are no adornments besides a hard cot provided for sleeping. The cells do feature running water, a toilet and a sink to wash in. However, the running water is provided solely to avoid the need for communal showers._

_Prisoners spend 22 hours in these small windowless cells with no contact with anyone. They normally see no guards. Never any other inmates. Medical care is nearly nonexistent except in cases of extreme emergency. Meals are silently delivered through a slot in the door. The inmate never sees who delivers them._

_No reading nor writing material is provided for the inmate, giving them plenty of time to quietly sit on their cot and contemplate their crimes against society. For contemplation is at the very core of the Que’no’na confignment._

_For one hour each day, each inmate might be allowed to exercise in their own private outdoor yard. However exercise time is staggered to avoid any temptation of voice contact with another inmate. Prisoners desperate for interaction with another could be moved to bribe prison officers (with money or sex) for paper and pencil, then launch letters attached to rocks over the walls. But only rarely will they succeed._

_Of course, the most striking feature of Que’no’na Prison: The heavy blanket of silence. Dead. All encompassing, deafening quiet. Silence must be observed at all times. No talking, no singing, no whistling, no groans, no cries. Snorers will be awakened in the night. Even the guards are silent._

_Once each day, the inmate is marched (wearing a hood) to a private video room. Soundless video of helpful images, or what one might call propaganda viewed for one standard hour. The prisoner is still not allowed to speak during these times._

_Punishments for breaking the silence ranges from whippings, beatings, withholding of food, to being soaked with freezing water and the eye of the Praetor closed, all light is extinguished. The inmate is left to shiver nude in the dark._

_Small wonder that most inmates at Que’no’na go insane._


	2. Chapter 2

                                               

 

Spock appears for his shift at the main doorway of the looming neo-gothic structure. The prison is as imposing and gloomy on the outside as it is on the inside.

He swipes his ID card through the reader. The door and exterior gate open obediently and allow him access.

His footsteps echo loudly on the stone floor as he reaches the first antechamber. Once inside this chamber he dons his shoe covers. Even footsteps made by guards are forbidden here. He nods at the centurion walking past him. Prison guards do not verbally converse with one another in chambers, in corridors, nor in the inmates cells. They are able to speak in whispers only in the mess hall while on an infrequent rest break.

He studies the notifications board for any problems or updates. He tugs on the bottom of the jacket of his uniform, straightening out the thick fabric, before he sets about his duties. Straightening his cap.

The inmates are being served the breakfast meal. Tins of ‘Goodfood’ slide through the slots in the never ending corridor. The food server, pushing the cart from cell door to cell door nods he passes him by.

Spock reaches the central viewing hub. His station. An inclosed area filled with monitors. His main duty is observation of the three hundred and fifty six inmates in their individual cells.

He relieves the centurion. The guard moves aside, hands him a note. He opens it: ‘Cell twenty three. Inmate 90802EB. It is beginning.’

He nods his understanding to the centurion.

90802ED is being affected by the solitary confignment. Showing signs of insanity.

It is interesting to work in such a place of silence. Performing these repetitive tasks. There have been guards who have also went insane. From the deathly quiet. Spock finds he does not mind it. He sits here mostly in a meditative trance. He does not remember when he first came into Que’no’na prison’s employ--but it has been awhile.

He looks at each inmate for several minutes on the monitor, before switching over to the inmate of concern.

Inmate 90802EB is a sandy haired male, approximately in his early twenties, possessing striking, haunted blue eyes. Well proportioned body and facial features. The prisoner had suddenly appeared at Que’no’na in his cell one day before Spock had arrived for his shift. That was some while ago. How long had it been? A year perhaps. Or more. Spock does not know the particulars of this inmate’s sentence but he surmises the prisoner faces a lifetime incarceration at Que’no’na.

90802EB suddenly tears off his grey jumpsuit. He is now nude. He is not allowed to remove his own jumpsuit. 90802EB paces the cell floor relentlessly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Suddenly, 90802EB drops down onto his bunk, rolling onto his back. His penis jumps to full tumescence. The inmate strokes the shaft feverently, ferociously. As orgasm hits, there is no verbal sound, but the mouth is contorted into an oval, a soundless cry, the eyes squeezed shut. White ribbons of semen shoot from the glans, some covering the inmate’s hand, some splattering onto the floor.

The inmate rises up, begins pacing once again. From the front of the cell, to the back of the cell. Nine feet. Back and forth, back and forth on the stone floor. The bare feet trod through the pool of semen, the prisoner taking no notice.

After perhaps another half an hour of pacing, the inmate sits on the bunk yet again. He grabs his organ and once again brings himself to aching hardness, relentlessly stroking. Another orgasm hits. The inmate gets up and begins pacing for another approximate half hour. Then again on his bunk. Each orgasm appears painful, not at all the pleasure it should be.

After five standard hours of this, the inmate exhausts himself into sleep for approximately one standard hour.

The midday meal of Goodfood and water had been served to 90802EB. Shoved through the slot, then closed up with a clank. However the Goodfood remains untouched.

The young man awakens suddenly and begins to pace once again. Perhaps salivating. He drops again onto his bunk and repeats the masturbation session, licking his full lips, the mouth contorting into a soundless cry.

He watches the man repeat this cycle. He should switch over to view the others but he does not. He should alert the centurion to replace the inmate’s uniform. There is something about this inmate that fascinates him. Keeps him enthralled. He does not know what it is. He knows what he is doing. Watching for this long is not allowed. However, he continues to observe.

*

Levanek makes his way down the narrow, uneven cobblestone lane. To ward off the cold his hands are thrust into the deep pockets of his coat. He walks with determined air to his footsteps. Almost frantic. He is desperate. This planet is nothing besides grey, cold and dreary but no matter, he won’t be outside for much longer. Fuck everything else, he has plans for today and those plans are most important and he refuses to run but walking frustrates him, the frustration gnaws into his bones. He cannot get there fast enough.

He arrives at his destination, finally. A stone, unassuming building, color matching the sky. At the entrance, he plays the required amount. He drops the coins into the outstretched hand of the dark haired woman at the window. Hears the clink, clink, clink. For a moment he panics when he thinks he is short a coin. But no, he digs through his other coat pocket, then his trousers, finds the missing coin and hands it over. He blows out a sigh of relief when he is waved inside. He goes through the heavy velvet curtains and into the sweet smoky air. He waits a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

He is a regular customer. A regular consumer of this flower. The poppy. The proprietor recognizes him with a friendly smile. Madame Tui-ient’le or Tui for short. She waves him over to a waiting spot.

He nods in response.

He only has to wait a few moments before Madame Tui brings over the tray which contains among other paraphanalia: The lamp, the bowl, and the pill (the drug itself as it is called.) He waits patiently until all is set up just right. He is handed a long pipe made of bone. He holds it over the lamp, heating it, letting the vapor through. He places the end of the pipe against his mouth. Sucks the vapor greedily into his lungs. He exhales though the nose to let the them pass along his moist membranes.

Eventually he can smoke no more. A tingling wave caresses his head. He feels incredible calm and wellbeing. He lays there curled up into the fetal position on the mat.

In the corner someone is playing the old wooden piano. The music is the most marvelous thing to listen to. Always sounds so rich and full when he visits here.

He has a few more pipes. He is up to fifteen these days.

Someone is behind him on the mat. Undoing the fastening of his trousers. Playing with his cock. It doesn’t get hard. He snickers. Don’t they know opium messes with your virility? He feels his cheeks spread. Something poking at his entrance. The head pushing against his rectum and sliding into him. He is not at all annoyed but all the more amazed that they can get an erection.

He closes his eyes, relaxes and lets it happen.

*

Spock enters the apartment. It is quiet and dark inside with the rank odor of two beings living in filth. That and mold. Things are no different than any other day. His footsteps creak as he walks along the bare floorboards. In the tiny kitchenette, he halts at the dirty dishes in the sink. The garbage covering the kitchen floor. He sighs for a moment, then takes the tiniest amount of soap to wash up two plates, two glasses and two forks and the butcher knife. All the remaining serving ware that they possess. The rest of it has been hawked at the shop. There is no hot or even warm water. Only cold. He dries the sopping wet dish ware on his own clothing before he sets the table.

“Levanek,” he calls out. He pours measures of blue ale into the glasses.

No answer. He moves to the tiny bedroom. Halts at the doorway. A mountain of dirty clothing is stacked in the corner of the sparsely furnished room of only a bed. The odor of unwashed laundry--foul socks and underwear-- is overpowering. There is no laundry soap to be had, therefore no washing can be done.

“Levanek,” he speaks again.

No answer. Spock sits down on the double bed. There are no bedsheets only the mattress and the blanket. It creaks with his weight. Immediately the figure turned to the wall in heavy slumber opens his eyes. Rolls onto his back. The man’s eyes are sunken in. The dark brown hair is getting long. Beginning to hide his pointed ears. Since he is not employed the younger one is not entitled to regular haircuts by the barber.

  

 

“I have brought ‘Goodfood’,” Spock tells him.

Levanek pulls the blanket over his head. “Not hungry right now.”

“Come and eat.” Spock retreats to the kitchen. He tidies up as he moves around the apartment, waiting for the younger one to join him.

Levanek finally seats himself at the table. Spock retrieves the rusty can opener. Opens up the ‘Goodfood’. The tins have a white label with a blue stripe at the bottom. In blue type it simply describes the contents as... ‘Goodfood’.

Levanek dutifully eats the contents of the tin. Completely cold. Their gas is out, as Spock has discovered. Nothing comes forth as he turns the knob on the stove. They have not sent in a payment in a long while. Was only a matter of time.

“What else did you get?” Levanek asks between gulps.

“A loaf of bread.”

“Margarine?”

“Negative.”

Levanek sighs. “That’s just fucking great, old man. You know I don’t like bread without margarine.”

“Forgive me. Margarine proved to be unavailable.”

“Maybe you got into the wrong line.”

“I stood in the only line.”

Levanek scowls, but he helps himself to a hunk of bread. He takes a sip of the blue ale. They eat in silence for the rest of the meal.

Afterwards, Spock reaches into the cupboard for the nearly empty carton of Gitane cigarettes. The only brand allowed by the government. He lights one for Levanek and one for himself. “There is an inmate--”

“So?”

“I am concerned about this creature. He is quite damaged by the prison experience.”

Levanek snorts as he blows out smoke. “Do you know anyone who enjoys being incarcerated?”

“He is particularly affected.”

“Must have done something wrong. Otherwise he wouldn’t be there, so...good.”

Spock takes a long drag on the Gitane before blowing out the smoke. “The inmate is a Human.”

Levanek pauses. “Human? What are those?”

“Their heart, is here on the chest. Their bodies are not as efficient as ours. Red blood.”

“Red blood?” Levanek furrows his brow. “Why is it red?”

“The platelets are iron based. They do possess a similar body stock to ours but with a faint pink hue to their skin.”

Levanek wrinkles up his nose in disgust. “Human...oh yeah...isn’t that what the government calls animals? Nasty creatures?”

“Affirmative.”

“What is a Human doing on Prema?”

“Unknown.”

Levanek takes another sip of the ale. Spock can hear him gulp it down as he sips at his own glass.

Later that evening, Spock enters the tiny bathroom. He removes his prison uniform folding it up neatly to get one more wear out of it before it needs to be laundered. He turns on the bathroom light by the chain, pausing as several insects scurry away. He must perform his ablutions quickly before the power cuts out. Electricity is run on a meter, requiring several coins to be fed into it. The meter itself is in the basement next to the laundry room. The shower head is non functional and he does not wish to take a cold bath. He washes up in the tiny sink bracing for the bite of the water, careful not to let any touch his mouth. He takes his robe off the small hook on the door.

He shuts of the light in both the kitchen and bathroom and heads into the bedroom. Levanek is already in bed.

Spock crawls in beside him. Waits for a few moments. “The bathroom is available if you wish to wash up.”

“Uh huh. I will later.” Levanek rolls onto his side, away from him.

Spock says nothing more about that, but slides closer, pushing right up against him. He can smell the semen of another. “Where did you go today?”

“Where do you think, Spock? Same place as always.”

“To the den?”

“Yup.”

“Perhaps it would be wise that you should quit the Opium.”

Levanek snorts. “Maybe you should give up the blue ale.”

“I do not abuse blue ale.”

“Bullshit. You drink it every day. You’re addicted.”

“Ale is the only liquid available for safe consumption.”

“There’s water,” Levanek says, then laughs bitterly. “Listen Spock. You have your ale. Well, that pipe is the only thing I look forward to each day.”

“Then do not whore yourself for the pipe.”

“I had enough coins in my pocket. Doesn’t take many. Mostly dross anyway.”

“Ah.” Levanek had explained to him what ‘dross‘ was before. Pure Opium is called ‘Chandu’. Opium mixed with dross, the residue of smoked chandu, is cheaper and adulterated with morphine.

Spock says no more about it. He can still smell the semen in Levanek but it does not deter him from reaching for the jar of coconut oil, slicking himself up and sliding his own organ into the man. He despises himself for his constant sexual needs even at his advancing age. Levanek simply allows it without protest. As usual.

Spock finishes, withdraws his penis. “Forgive me,” he pants out.

“No matter.”

Spock reaches over to Levanek’s penis, but as usual it is soft. It did not become tumid at all during the sexual act.

“Don’t bother,” Levanek informs him but entirely without rancor.

Spock sighs gets out of bed, cleans himself up in the bathroom. The light is off for the night. He will not go down to feed the meter at this hour. He lets his eyes adjust to the dark while listening to the scurrying of the insects.

*

90802EB will not stop masturbating. The inmate is not following the rules of Que’no’na. Using his time of incarceration to reflect upon his crimes. Things had become necessary to initiate physical contact with the inmate. An act that rarely happens at Que’no’na. Guards enter his cell. The prison jumpsuit is replaced on his body. The guards leave him. 90802EB immediately tears it off his body.

Spock watches through the monitor.

The guards re-enter his cell. One holds a metal bucket. Now it is time to begin corrective measures. An ice water bath.

The water is tossed onto the nude inmate.

Soon the lights will go out in the inmate’s cell.

*

After the crowded bus ride home, Spock enters the apartment with his parcel. He had slid his key in the paltry lock wondering if he should go through the trouble of waking up Levanek. But no, the kitchen lightbulb is on. Levanek is already sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes half mast in that tell tale in between phase between sleep/wake that signals recent opium consumption.

“Forgive me,” Spock informs him.

“For what?”

“There was no ‘Goodfood’ to be had at the distribution center. By the time I arrived they were out.”

“No more ‘Goodfood’?” Levanek lets out a harsh giggle. “Not hungry anyway.” Levanek is without a shirt on. Spock can count the ribs. “What’s in the parcel?’

Spock quickly unwraps it so he can show the man. “A carton of Gitanes.”

Levanek laughs. “Ah, bless the Praetor. What would we do without the government looking after us so well?”

“Have we nothing to eat in the cupboard?” Spock says. “No bread?”

“You mean anything that the rats haven’t already gotten? No. Nothing.”

Spock pulls on his coat.

“Where you going?” Levanek wonders.

“I shall return to work to pilfer some of their ‘Goodfood’. I will not be long.”

“No,” Levanek barks out sharply, showing an unusual amount of concern. He holds up a hand. “Don’t do it. You’ve never stolen a thing in your life. You get caught they’ll fire you or even worse arrest you. Just get something at the noodle shop for yourself.”

“Pay for food? I suppose I must. I am concerned for your emaciated state.”

Levanek stands up shakily. He moves into the bathroom but does not shut the door before he urinates. Spock can hear the flow hitting the bowl. “I haven’t shit in a week,” Levanek calls out.

“The Opium.”

“Brilliant Spock.”

“All the more reason to quit.”

“Stop. Not gonna ask you again, old man.”

Spock does as demanded, stops nagging the man and says: “Perhaps a bowl of noodles will be of benefit to your bowels. The broth. You will accompany me.”

Levanek does not bother flushing the toilet when he comes out. “A bowl of noodles?” he says with wide eyes. Real food like this is a luxury they do not have the funds for. “Are we sharing one?”

“Two bowls.”

“This is a surprise. What about rent this month?”

“We shall be concerned with that when the time comes. Do not worry, I will come up with the extra money.”

“The hell you will.”

“We shall worry about that tomorrow. I myself am famished and you are too thin.”

“If you say so, old man.”

Spock reaches towards the hook, picks up Levanek’s coat, throws it towards him.

 

*

 

 

In the rain, sitting at a table on a busy street, chopsticks in hand, the two of them wordlessly shovel in their noodles. They both each enjoy a cup of Rihansu Ale.

“Today we eat like kings,” Levanek muses. “Tomorrow we pay for it, like whores.”

“Do not dare,” Spock replies.

“I didn’t mean, literally, Spock. I’m just making an observation.” Levanek picks up his bowl. Holds it to his lips. Drinks the broth. “I’m not sucking the manager’s dick for a discount on rent this time. This time it’s your turn.”

“Neither of us will. And you better not,” Spock warns him.

“The hell do you care? Mm, this is good. Nice and hot and absolutely delicious. Haven’t had vegetables in a long long time.”

“You do not know the diseases you may contract from servicing the manager. I ask that you refrain.”

Levanek snickers at that. “‘Servicing the manager’. That’s funny. Relax, old man. Only a little case of syphilis.”

Spock grimaces. They joke about this, but once Levanek actually did contract that very disease from the manager. It took a long time to cure him of it. A great deal of mercury treatments.

“Fine,” Levanek says. “Well, we won’t have rent money this month. You think we’ll be happy together in a cardboard box? Maybe we’ll be a damn sight healthier, won’t have to breathe in all that mold and rat feces.”

Spock huffs at that and Levanek breaks out into a full laugh. It is a delight to see the man in such good spirits. They look up for a moment at the almost deafening sound of the Zeppelin propelling overhead in the grey, rainy sky. They then glance over at the crackling neon advertisement on the shop front for a new television. Something they will never ever own. The Zeppelin finally moves off the sound fading into the distance.

“Thank you, Spock. These noodles were a fantastic idea.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at that. “You are not being sarcastic?”

“I’m serious. This is delicious. I think this will loosen me up a bit.”

“I am gratified.”

“You just want me emptied out, don’chya.” Levanek waggles his slanted eyebrows, in a ridiculous, exaggerated fashion. “For later.”

“Leonard,” Spock says, “I do not--”

“Who?”

Spock pauses, blinks for a moment. “Forgive me. Levanek.”

Those green brown eyes watch him with suspicion. “Where the hell did you come up with ‘Leonard’? Who is he? What kind of a name is that? Is it some other guy you’re fucking?”

“No. I do not know anyone with such a name. I do not know why I said it. Forgive me.” Spock shakes his head to clear it.

Levanek smiles at that. “I think you’ve been hitting a little too much of the blue ale, Old Man.”

After their noodles, they stroll down the street, over to the the grounds of the local fun fair. ‘The carnival’ as it might have been called in some other place. In this instance the fair has no fun left in it, merely desolation and sadness, so perhaps it should be only called a ‘fair’.

Their walk to this fair seemed to be in some desperate semblance of a date. Perhaps they felt closer to each other after their noodles. So they walk, spaced apart. Since public displays of affection are never allowed from anyone, any couple--any sexual orientation, any hand holding or touching is against the law--it could simply be two men, two friends walking together at a distance apart. Nobody could tell the difference--no one would be able to discern that they are a couple, but for an occasional fond, flirtatious glance between them.

They stroll down the concrete with the weeds growing out. Simply stare at the broken down rides. They make no comment. Simply stare and walk, and hope they are not hassled by a hoodlum or robbed. They saunter past the rusty, ghostly tit a whirl that a lone operator is still running. The operator looks at them, probably willing them to hand over a coin and ride the ride. No words are exchanged, just stares.

Further along, there’s a string of lights. A few are still lit, the lights once were strung across the walkway, but now the hang down to the ground. There’s a scatter of moldy, old stuffed animals on the concrete. Broken benches. Boarded up concession stands. Trash and rats. A foghorn sounds in the distance. Spock does not remember when this was beautiful, pristine. He does not remember when this place was filled with children. Does not remember when it was fun. But it must have been at one time. No one builds a broken down fair from the get go.

 

Later that night, back in the apartment, Spock makes up for all that desolation and sadness, by being just a bit more tender in bed. Still, Levanek cannot get hard.

 

ON TO NEXT CHAPTER...


	3. Chapter 3

The stairs creak as Levanek makes his way up to the top floor apartment. The only unit on the top floor. The palatial penthouse. The apartment that has it’s own private elevator, that no other resident of the building is allowed to use.

He reaches the door. Knocks a few short hard raps.

After a few moments a woman answers the door. “What do you want?”

“I’m paying the rent,” Levanek tells her.

“Place it into an envelope and slip it into the box.” She starts to shut the door, before Levanek puts his shoe into the breach.

“Wait...I uh...we’re gonna be a little short this month.”

She eyes him. “Short? What do you mean short?”

“Short on the rent.”

“What unit are you in?” she demands.

“3B.”

“How much?” she asks with a roll of the eyes.

“By fifty credits.”

She frowns. “Fifty credits? That is unacceptable.”

“I know it is, and I’m sorry. I promise we’ll make it up the next month.”

She calls back behind her, presumably to her husband. “Nero!”

Nero appears at the door. Shirtless, muscled. “What.”

“In apartment 3B, they claim they’re fifty credits short.”

“Fifty credits?” Nero folds his intricately tattooed arms. Levanek studies them. Unusual designs. Worlds and some type of craft, something he cannot not recognize. “Unacceptable,” Nero informs him.

“I’m really sorry,” Levanek says. “We just don’t have it this month.”

“Looks like it’s time to start pawning your possessions.”

“We’ve already sold off nearly everything we own.” Levanek is aware that his voice sounds pleading. He’s begging and he hates it. “We have nothing left of value. Maybe there’s some chores I could do around here, to earn the extra money.”

Nero opens the door wider. “In.”

Levanek respectfully lowers his head a moment, then steps into the front parlor. His eyes blink, he is terribly unused to the bright illumination provided in this sumptuous penthouse by some very ornate lamps. He glances around, noting the paneling on the walls, the shiny wooden floor, the fluffy rugs, the oak coffee table the teakwood dining room table, the silver candlesticks, the television, objects d’art, wall tapestries. Wow. Many things he has never seen the likes of before, such riches. Too bad he couldn’t come back with Spock when they weren’t in and steal a few items. Sell them on the black market for some soap or maybe a couple articles of clothing or some coal. The landlord wouldn’t miss anything, surely, but Spock would never agree to theft.

Levanek pushes those thoughts out of his mind. He goes to the window and stares out of it. There’s the tops of buildings but it’s hazy. Not much of a view from the sixth floor. The brown smog layer is visible. That’s what they breathe in every day when they venture outside.

He hears Nero’s voice directly behind him: “We have a maid to handle the household chores. However you can be of use to us.”

Levanek spins back around to face the landlord. He nods at the imposing figure with a deflated air. He had known precisely what would happen, though usually it was the ground floor concierge/manager’s nasty smegma caked dick he had to suck, but the concierge wasn’t in this week--so it was straight upstairs to the landlord. No matter, this guy: bald, pointy ears, rippling muscles, looked a hell of a lot cleaner than the unwashed, slimy concierge. This guy probably used lots of soap.

But he and Spock have never been short this large of an amount before.

Nero sighs and grabs hold of Levanek’s arm, yanking him down the hall. He stops short at the bathroom door and pushes Levanek in. “Take a bath you nasty fool.”

Levanek goes in, shuts the door behind him. He first glances around the palatial bathroom for anything he can steal, shove into his pockets later. He removes his clothing. Letting it drop onto the rug, turns on the faucet, filling the tub with steamy water. Oh it was gorgeous. He gets in and reclines in the tub slathers soap all over himself. Curse the praetor. He hasn’t bathed like this in a long long time. He even washes his hair, rinses himself off.

He comes out with a towel around his waist.

He finds himself pushed onto a huge heart shaped bed with green silk sheets and a green duvet. The bed takes up most of the large bedroom. He has never seen anything like this and probably will never forget the sight of it.

He clambers around and sits down on the edge of the bed. Waiting with butterflies in his stomach at what is about to happen.

Nero’s wife enters the room comes over to stand in front of him. He watches as she opens her robe and drops it onto the floor. Her hair is now untied and long down her back and covering her pointed ears. She’s clad in brassiere and panties and garter stockings.

“Do not stare at my wife in that manner,” Nero commands.

Levanek lowers his head. They have gotten the wrong idea, he was gazing at her body merely out of curiosity, not any type of sexual attraction. But he was not about to explain. He simply apologizes. Profusely.

“Shut up,” Nero says, the annoyance shining in his dark eyes as he spells out his intentions: “My wife is going to expose her pussy to you. You will orally pleasure her to orgasm. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Levanek says without emotion. He sits with both palms on his knees. Waiting.

She slides her panties over with a single finger and looks down at him expectantly. He leans over, grabs hold of her thighs, then slides his hands up the smooth skin to the lips. He places his tongue on her clitoris and begins to move it back and forth.

At once she jerks back. “Haven’t you ever licked pussy before?”

He had not but he does not mention that and in fact he finds this whole sexual act with a female repellant. Instead he says: “The angle is hard on my back. Could you...get onto the bed? It would be easier for me to...pleasure you.”

Nero’s wife glances over at her husband, he nods in acquiescence.

The wife lays down on the bed, moves to the edge, spreads open her legs. Levanek is made to kneel down in front of her. Nero had come up behind him and forced him to his knees. His knees crack as they bend without warning.

Nero also kneels down, behind him, reaches around pulling off Levanek’s towel, yanking it away with too damned much eagerness. Levanek knows he’s gonna get pounded hard by this ogre. “Look,” Nero calls to his wife. “This little slut is gagging for it.” Levanek does not know why Nero would think that, he does not have an erection. Nero slaps Levanek’s ass. “Hey. Lick that pussy. I want to see you lick like there’s no tomorrow. Make my wife scream out in ecstasy. Better be worth the fifty credits.”

As Levanek bends down to lick--this time the wife seems to be enjoying herself--Levanek feels the head of a cock shoved into him.

*

Spock opens the front door, finding Levanek sitting in the kitchen chair in a stupor. Those droopy eyelids. Half mast eyes. That telltale sign of intoxication as always.

However there is something more, something different this time.

Levanek flashes a dopey grin at him. “Hi, Baby,” he coos.

“You are quite enhebriated this evening.” Spock sets his bag on the table.

Levanek giggles. “The word, my dear, is stoned. Stoned. Get it right, old man. Stoned. Stoned! Stoned!” He seems to increase his volume with every word. “STONED!” he bellows out.

There is a knock on the wall. The neighbor can hear them.

“Shhh,” Spock replies. “The walls--”

“Are like paper. I know.”

“Then attempt to be quiet.”

“I will.” Levanek still has the dopey grin.

“You have smoked more opium than usual.”

“Ah Spock. Always with a gift for stating the obvious.”

“Why?”

“Felt like it.”

Spock pulls out two cans of ‘Goodfood’ and the loaf of bread out of the bag. He holds it up. Levanek turns away from it. “I have managed to acquire some ‘margarine’,” Spock says in attempt to entice him. “I cannot vouch for its quality, however.”

“Hmm. S’okay, I suppose.” Levanek stands up so suddenly that his chair knocks over onto the floor. Spock hears the neighbor beneath them pound on the floor as he leans over to pick it up. Levanek stumbles over to the bathroom. The loud sounds of vomiting can be heard.

Spock goes into the bathroom and sees Levanek sprawled on the dirty tiles, leaning on the toilet. Spock crouches down behind him, places his hands on the mans back, rubbing his shoulders. He notices a bar of soap and a roll of toilet paper sitting on the lip of the sink. The roll is slightly flattened. Looks as if it had been shoved into a pocket. He does not ask where it originated from.

“Go away.” The odor of sick pungent on Levanek’s breath. However his voice is sharper, he sounds considerably more sober at this point.

“You are unwell.”

“Just the opium, making me nauseous.” Levanek retches again and vomits.

Spock waits till the man seems to stop. “Why is it making you ill? The dross?”

Levanek breaks out into a bitter giggle. Spock waits politely, watching until it subsides. “No, I simply smoked a little too much of it.”

“Why so much?”

“Because, I needed to.”

“I see. And how did you pay for this Opium?”

“Had a couple coins.”

“Ah. And what about the rent?”

Levanek waves him off with a dismissive air. “Don’t worry, I took care of it this afternoon.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at the ‘took care of it’. The smell hits him suddenly, along with the vomit. Foreign semen combined with the smell of a woman. Ah, Levanek must have visited the landlord. Spock says nothing more about it, but holds onto the wall as he pushes himself up off of the dirty tiles. The wall is moldy where he touches it, he looks at his hand with disgust. He leans over Levanek to turn on the faucet. “It is my only wish that we had clean water available for consumption.”

“Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink?” Levanek jokes, still sitting on the floor. “We could boil some but we have no gas and we sold all our pans and our kettle.”

“Have some ale to wash out your mouth. There is enough left over for tonight. Please consume your meal. You are much too thin.”

“I’m not hungry,” Levanek protests but still stands up. He wipes off his mouth on a dirty towel and follows Spock to the kitchen table. Spock pours him a glass of blue ale.

“You’re home late,” Levanek notices as he sips at it. “How long did you have to stand in line, this time?”

“Three point two hours. Approximately.”

“They distribute anything else? Besides Goodfood? How about some toothpaste? I’d really like to brush my teeth.”

“Negative.”

“Dammit. We’re out of everything.”

“Cannot be helped.”

Spock leans over to the cupboard, opens it and fishes out the last pack of Gitanes. He opens up the pack draws out a cigarette for himself and one for Levanek. “There are not many of these left for tonight.”

Levanek draws in the smoke into his lungs as if his life depends upon it.  
Spock takes a drag on his own cigarette, the spicy aroma pungent in the hazy air. This odor is much more preferable to the damp and mold. He does not know what makes him cough more in the mornings. The cigarettes or the the mold.

Later on that evening, in bed, Spock maneuvers himself up behind to spoon the man, then slips his painfully erect penis into Levanek. Grunting slightly as he pushes in.

“You have one crazy kink old man,” Levanek pants out.

“I do not. I merely wish to engage in a sexual act. With you.”

“The hell you do. Seems like--” Spock thrusts inside him sharply and bottoms out, his hips meeting the other’s ass, his testicles slapping against him. “Ugh...”

“Shhhh.” Spock snaps his hips again, moving himself in then out. “Quiet.”

But Levanek obviously has other ideas. “Seems like you like... fucking me when somebody else come is in my ass--turns you on.”

Spock has to admit he does enjoy pushing the offensive semen to the nether regions of Levanek’s rectum and replacing it with his own. Replacing the odors with those of his own. He only wishes that the younger one would also achieve an erection. Levanek never does. No matter how much direct stimulation Spock attempts to apply to Levanek’s penis, it does not seem to function.

Afterwards Spock sits on the bed and apologizes.

Levanek rubs his back in an obvious attempt to sooth him. “It’s okay.”

“I wish I did not have these urges.”

“You can’t help it. You have a normal sex drive.”

“At my age? With a partner young enough to be my great grandson?”

“Yes. At your age. At least you can get it up.”

“You do not enjoy sex.”

“I enjoy it plenty.”

Spock turns to him. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Levanek nods vigorously. “I do. With you, I do.” He pats Spock’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Old Man, I do.”

“You find me attractive?”

“Does that really matter?”

For some reason it does. It normally does not, but right now it does matter. Levanek must sense this for he says: “Yes, I find you attractive, Spock.”

Spock glances down at his own naked body--he is not in the greatest of shape. The hair on his chest is white. He wonders what he looked like as a young man--as young as Levanek is--but he cannot remember. He glances over at Levanek’s smooth chest, his unwrinkled face and feels a twinge of jealousy.

Levanek runs a hand over Spock’s chest, through the hair. “Don’t worry, Spock. It’s alright.”

Somehow, Spock does not believe him. He stares at the limp organ hanging between Levanek’s legs.

*

At the prison, his shift ends. Spock removes his shoe covers in the foyer. Uses his ID card to let himself out.

The moon, Romulus, is in the sky. Bright. White. Illuminating the way with its ghostly glow.

At the distribution center there is a posted notice. He is to go to the other center, a fair distance away. There are several food distribution centers around the city.

If he is forced to travel to the other center that means food will be short. Others walk up, see the notice, glance at him. No one complains about this. It is wise not to speak of such things anyway.

He would rather go home. Take Levanek to the noodle stand instead. But he should not. They have no money to waste on such luxury.

He walks quickly to the other side of the city. This takes some time, even with his long strides. He arrives. Stands in line. It is filled with people he does not recognize.

Finally he reaches the window. He hands over his ID card.

The woman scowls at him. Hands the ID back. Slams down a single can of ‘Goodfood’, No bread. No cigarettes. No ale.

The no cigarettes and no ale bothers him more than the loss of the one can ‘Goodfood’ and the bread. No matter. He will give the goodfood and the last of their cigarettes and ale to Levanek and he will have to abstain for the night. “Thank you, Comrade,” he tells her.

“Next!”

He walks home. This way is unfamiliar to him, he never has traversed this path before. There is a boarded up bus station. He passes by it quickly.

Immediately he senses someone following him.  By the sound of their footsteps they had been lying in wait in the station.  Someone intends to rob him. He is not too concerned as he can take a thug. He has fought them off before. Thugs tend to hang around distribution centers.

Suddenly, he is surrounded. A large group of younger ones.

They laugh and taunt. “Look at the old man.”

He does not wish to fight but they decide for him. They attack. He is able to get a few blows in, but ultimately they get the upper hand.

Something hard--a paving stone perhaps--slams against the back of his head. He immediately drops to the ground. He loses his hold on the tin of ‘Goodfood’.  He hears it roll away and then picked up. Fingers are touching him. Exploring. He feels blood seeping. His wallet is lifted out of his jacket. There are cries of derision above him when the young ones realize he is carrying no credits. This angers them. They take this out on him by kicking him several times in the ribs and back before running off. Leaving him to bleed.  Leaving him for dead.

From his vantage point, face up, on the ground, Prema spins. Romulus, the moon, looks odd. Seems to have transformed from it’s earlier bright white glow into a rusty, red hue. Fascinating.

 

_“Interesting. Your Earth people have glorified orgainised violence for centuries. But you imprison those who employ it privately.”_

_Dr. Leonard McCoy glares back at him, both hands clamped on the red railing. “And of course your people found an answer!”_

_“We disposed of emotion, Doctor. Where there is no emotion, there is no motive for violence.”_

 

His eyelids grow heavy. Romulus, the moon, suddenly fades to black.


	4. Chapter 4

He feels the coldness and sting of a hypo pressed against his arm. Hears the hiss. The smells are familiar. Sickbay. He is home. Aboard the Enterprise. He opens his eyes and notes a familiar figure standing next to the biobed, wearing that short sleeved, metallic blue sickbay smock, made from dupioni silk. He feels as if he has not seen this man with the bright blue eyes in many years, but the feeling is illogical since Dr. Leonard McCoy is right here.

“You are concussed,” McCoy says. “Had quite a fall in that lab. What the hell were you doing in there?”

“In there?” Spock asks, puzzled. Then halts. McCoy is speaking English or what might be known as Federation Standard Dialect. Formerly English. His notices his own voice is younger sounding, he holds out an arm in front of him, studies his hands, young hands--not the elderly appendages he has been used to. “What happened?” he wonders.

“They found you. Unconscious, sprawled out on the deck. That’s unlike you to fall like that. Anything you want to tell me? Jim should be here any moment, maybe you can tell him.”

Jim. That man--it feels like he has not seen Jim Kirk in an eternity. He shakes that thought away as McCoy drones on with his medical speak, smiles every few words, looks at him with those electric eyes that hide no emotion, holding the chart with graceful hands, gold pinky ring gleaming in the bright lights. Spock is reminded of what a beautiful man McCoy is. What a beautiful man Jim Kirk also is.

“Spock, hello, Spock.” McCoy snaps his fingers at him. “You’re in a daze. Hey. It’s alright.” The doctor reaches over to pat him on the shoulder--

Spock cannot feel the touch. His eyes widen.

“It’s alright, Spock, relax,” McCoy tells him, holding up a hand. He reaches for another hypo. “Just be a sec’, gonna give you a dose of Laudanum.”

“Laudanum?” Spock breathes. The prickles of terror run along his body. Something is not right. He knows that laudanum is a tincture of alcohol and powdered Opium. Why would the Enterprise chief medical officer resort to ancient medicines such as a highly addictive substance with dubious redeeming qualities?

He blinks and the image of Dr. Leonard McCoy and sickbay immediately fades from existence.

Instead he finds himself in a hospital ward, ensconced in one of the many beds. A thin sheet is pulled up to his chest. A medical technician--not a doctor, those are not allowed-- hovers over him but it is not McCoy.

Levanek waves at him from a nearby chair. He jumps up, comes over and says, almost frantically in their usual Ri’hansu language, his eyes darting around: “Took me forever to find you, Old Man. You lost your ID card. I knew when you hadn’t come home all night and all day the next, something must have happened. I was right. I had to visit every hospital in town. I was hoping you were here, the last one. I gave them a description of you and you were here! The other remaining place is the city morgue.” He touches a bruise on Spock’s face. “Look at you.”

“Fascinating,” Spock says in English. The man in front of him, Levanek, reminds him so much of Dr. Leonard McCoy. Those green-brown eyes while not blue emote just as much kindness and concern. The arms are folded in much the same way. The hair is the precise chestnut brown color combed into a similar hairstyle albeit longer. The intonation is similar. The arching of the eyebrow identical. The med tech also seems oddly familiar.

“You should not have pointed ears,” Spock tells Levanek, still in English.

“Huh?” Levanek blinks at him. Looks over at the med tech. “What is he saying? I can’t understand him.”

“I don’t know. Gibberish.” The med tech comes closer to Spock, shines a light into his eyes. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Spock replies in Ri’hansu.

“What is your name?”

“Spock.”

“Good. Well, you have a severe concussion,” the med tech explains with a bored tone of voice. “And several bruises and cuts.”

“Grandfather, do you remember what happened?” Levanek asks.

“Negative.”

“One day off of work.” The med tech writes this down on a piece of paper. “Here is a bottle of Laudanum. Take this three times daily. Tincture in your normal blue ale.”

“One day off?” Levanek says. “Concussion is a serious thing. My grandfather should have off work longer than that. I would recommend a week. And Laudanum--that’s only good for diarrhea, not concussion.”

A member of the government hospital staff walking past suddenly stops and notices. “Comrade, you seem to have medical knowledge, do you work for the hospital?”

The med tech looks up at the government staffer. “Thank you, Comrade, I can handle this.”

“Handle what?” Levanek says. “Why do you want to give him Laudanum? That won’t help him at all.”

“The police are on their way,” the med tech informs him.

“Spock. You don’t remember what happened? Were you robbed? Is that what happened?” Levanek says. “What did they do, steal your Goodfood?”

“No,” the med tech says. “They are coming to arrest you. Domestic violence.”

“Domestic violence?” Levanek sputters. “I didn’t do anything to him! This man was robbed! Where did they find him? Who called the ambulance?”

“Ambulance?” the med tech scoffs. “Comrade, there are no ambulances available. Someone brought him in. Or the police found him. Or maybe he stumbled in himself. Or maybe you dropped him off.” And demonstrated by his attitude, the med tech does not care. Spock blinks at him. Still the med tech seems so familiar. He shakes the thought away.

“Spock, what happened?” Levanek demands.

“Comrade,” the med tech whispers. “If you know what’s good for you you’ll leave the hospital this instant.”

“Yes but--!”

“I remember...” Spock struggles to explain to the med tech, “a gaggle of youths crowded around me. Taunting me for being elderly. They beat me. Levanek has done nothing wrong.”

“See?” Levanek says. “That’s what happened.”

“Is he your grandson?” the med tech asks Spock. “You live together?”

It is obvious the med tech had not listened to Levanek refer to him as ‘Grandfather’. However, before he can reply, Levanek quickly answers for him: “Yes, we live together. I’m his grandson.”

“And a violent one at that. Look what you did to your grandfather. Trying to shake him down for credits? For your drug habit? You should be ashamed of yourself. Either leave the hospital this instant or the police shall throw you in jail,” the med tech tells Levanek.

“No! I didn’t do anything! I won’t leave Spock,” Levanek begins to shout, making a scene in the ward. Other patients in the other beds and visitors stare.

“It is quite alright, Levanek,” Spock says. “Go. I will be home soon. Make yourself scarce until then.”

“But--”

Spock spies the pair of police coming from the staircase. “Leonard,” he hisses. “Go. Now. Back staircase.”

Levanek turns to him, sharply. Then leaves.

*

As Levanek makes his way through the ward, a word jumps out at him. _Sickbay._ It is a word he has never heard before. He does not know the language but somehow it is familiar. The way the ward is set up, reminds him of...a _sickbay_. And the name _‘Leonard’_. That is the second time, Spock has used that name. He manages to hit the back staircase, the _turbolift_ is out, before _starfleet security_ discovers him.

Those words, what are they?

Why would the police be after him?

Was it possible he’d blacked out and hurt his lover of...how many years? He couldn’t remember.

*

He finds himself standing at the den. Hadn’t consciously decided to go there, had wanted to wait for Spock at home, but his feet have taken him there.

He scrambles for the coins in the pocket of his coat. Drops them into the outstretched hand of the woman. The curtain is pulled aside for him. Madame Tui is inside welcoming him. The place is hopping, busy as always, but she waves him over to an available mat.

He reclines on it, lays his head on the pillow. Madame Tui prepares the pipe for him. Always makes him feel important, welcome, like a celebrity. He feels so welcome, so safe here that he again smokes a little too much, but the vapor is so alluring, the sweetness beguiling. Maybe he should be home waiting for Spock, maybe should have gone to the distribution center, gotten some ‘Goodfood’ for Spock.

The next thing he knows he’s left Madame Tui’s and is stumbling through the streets. He turns the corner and pukes into a doorway, the storefront long ago shuttered. He’s sick, both with worry and from too much Opium. He fumbles for his ID card--gotta get to the distribution center, get some more ‘Goodfood’ for Spock. Spock will be famished.

The distribution center is of course closed. He hadn’t been to one in so long he couldn’t remember the posted hours anyway. Spock has always been the one lately to stop there after work.

He’ll have to pay through the nose for some noodles--Spock is gonna need something to eat, the hospital won’t bother feeding him. He digs through his coat, desperately looking for any credits, any coins to purchase something from a stall. There is nothing on him.

He stops a man. At first he considers robbing him, but instead asks: “Hey. Want your dick sucked?”

It is easier to make stupid decisions such as this--when he’s as high as he is.

The man nods and Levanek pulls him over into the shadows.

Moments later and ten credits richer, he goes to the noodle stand.

*

Spock is already home, when Levanek arrives, sitting morosely at the kitchen table. Face has several cuts and bruises. Hand with a bandage wrapped loosely around it.

Levanek holds up the bowl with a lid. “I figured you’d be hungry. How long have you been home?”

“Noodles?”

“Yep. And Ri’hansu Ale from the bazaar. Not that damned plain wrap brand from the centre.”

“Where did you get the money for such a feast?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Levanek sets the bowl on the table. “Eat. Before it gets cold. They didn’t feed you in that hospital, did they.”

“Not at all.”

Levanek waves at him. “Well then.” He leaves Spock to it. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

He throws up in the toilet. He takes the soap he’d managed to steal from the landlord. Washes himself up good and proper--washes the trick’s come out of his mouth so Spock can’t smell it. As old Spock is, he has a good nose. Hard to get anything past him.

He comes out and sees that Spock has spooned some of the noodles into a bowl to share. “You eat it, Old man. All of it. Get your strength up.”

“I wish for you to eat as well.”

Levanek sits down across from him. “I’m not hungry.”

“Three days medical leave.”

“Instead of one? Well, well, the med tech actually took my advice. Some of it anyway.”

“You do realize I will not be paid for those three days.”

“Your health is more important.” Levanek reaches out to touch one particular cut on Spock’s face. He goes around to the back of Spock's head and sees the damage. "Oh fuck." He touches the wound. Spock jumps slightly. "That hurt?"

"Negative."

"You could have been killed. Then what would I have done? Did you get things straightened out with the cops? Or am I a wanted criminal?”

“We will have no trouble from them. I told them I worked for Que’no’na prison. I assured them that you were not the culprit.”

“Any witnesses come forward? Maybe the police can catch them.”

Spock shakes his head. They both knew that none would ever come forward.

Levanek notices there is a small glass bottle sitting on the table, he leans over, picks it up and studies it. “Laudanum.”

Spock sighs. “They insisted I take it home with me. It shall go down the drain.”

Levanek smirks. “Should have done that before I came home.”

“I should have.”

Levanek turns it over in his hand. “I wonder. Why they prescribe this as a cure all for everything. It’s only really effective for diarrhea, or the management of pain. But even where pain is concerned, theres many other drugs more more effective, less addictive, less dangerous.”

“You sound like a physician.”

Levanek immediately sets the bottle down on the table. “Don’t say that so loud,” he says with a bitter air and a smile. “I’m not a doctor. Doctor’s are forbidden.”

“I know.”

Somehow, when Spock says that, it seems wrong. Why are they forbidden, he does not know. Odd, he cannot even remember holding any kind of vocation, career, ever. It has always been like this: Spock earning the hard scrabble living at the prison, Levanek staying home. “Who put that bandage on your arm?”

“One of the technicians at the hospital.”

“They didn’t do a very good job. Too loose. Here. Lemmie redo it.”

“You know how to wrap a bandage?”

“It’s not that difficult. Any idiot can.”

“Obviously not.”

 

_The type II scanner whirls. He glances up. “Well, Mr. Spock,” he tells him. “You have a broken wrist. Nicely done there you goddamned hobgoblin.”_

_“Dr, McCoy I--”_

_“Hold still, I’ll have the bone knitters fix this up in no time.”_

_“Thank you, Doctor.”_

 

“Did you say something, Levanek? I could not understand.”

Levanek pauses mid wrap. “What? Nothing.”

*

He’s managed to suck five cocks in a row, now has a fair amount of credits for his trouble. He’s disgusted with himself but it’s necessary. He stops again at the bazaar, that awful place where one gets fleeced but the food is better quality. There’s a throng of people shoving. He’s hoping he does not get his pockets picked. He picks up some fruit, some steaming hot rice and fresh cooked fish.

He enters the apartment hands Spock the supper. Spock’s nostrils twitch at the odor. Spock nods at him, raises an eyebrow but does not ask how he got the money for such an extravagance.

They eat the food in silence. Levanek pours a cup of ale for Spock.

Spock sips at it, then his eyes droop. “What is in this ale?”

Levanek smiles. “Just a few drops of Laudanum.”

“I did not require a dose of Laudanum. You yourself said it was ineffective.”

“I never said that. It’ll help you sleep. You need sleep to recover from your injuries.”

“I slept adequately last night. I should have poured the Laudanum down the drain.”

“But you didn’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

Levanek walks down the lane, approaching a desolate playground. In route to the poppy. He’d left the old man in bed. After that heavy dose of Laudanum he gave Spock, the old man should sleep soundly all night.

He doesn’t know why, but he stops and alters his course, strides through the broken gate, towards the playground. It’s abandoned, no child has played here in years. He has an irrational urge to run to the swings. Sit on them, swing on them as high as he can. There’s weeds everywhere. Trash. An abandoned tricycle lays on it’s side on the ground. He kneels down to study it. The paint used to be bright red, now it’s covered in rust.

He reaches out and spins the broken down, flattened tire. It squeaks as it rotates.

 

_“Mine, mine, mine, mine!” he finds himself pushed over, he lands with an ‘oof’ Something... somebody is on top of him. Struggling. “Mine!”_

_Jim and Spock run close to pull the creature off of him. They finally succeed._

_He sits up, notices the crisp black uniform trousers, now dusty. He stands up, noting his black leather-like boots, his blue velour, the gold stripes on his sleeve, one solid and one broken, the ring on his pinky on his left hand glinting in the sun as he brushes himself off._

_Jim holds onto the creature as it wails plaintively. It breaks away from the captain and kneels at the trike: “You broke it.” The creature looks up at him, accusingly. “My bike. You broke it!”_

_“I’m...sorry...” he says. Those words coming out of his mouth. A different language. Federation standard. Federation standard? “I didn’t mean to...”_

_The creature screams, clutches his heart and falls over. He rushes over, feels the creatures pulse to check the vitals. Scans it with his tricorder. It can’t be. “He’s dead, Jim.”_

_Jim meets his gaze, those hazel eyes filled with concern and confusion. “Dead? But how--?”_

_“I don’t know. He’s human!”_

_“Human?” Spock replies._

_He stares at him in disbelief. Spock is young, a very attractive young man. He stammers as he replies back, his voice betraying his terror: “Spock? I... Spock?”_

_“Dr. McCoy? Are you alright?”_

_“Yeah...I’m--”_

 

A raindrop lands on his head. Must be a large one because it hit hard. He stands up. As he does so he notes there is no ring on any finger of his. Remembers that he sold that a long time ago, for rent, or food or Opium, he doesn’t remember which.

He turns and walks out of the playground.

*

It seems that every figure who moves by him brushes his shoulder or somehow elbows him in the ribs as they pass. For some reason it’s taking the wind out of him. This has never happened before, it feels like he has no strength. Is it the opium that’s sucking the life out of him? Odd. Opium wouldn’t do something like this.

One of the bodies that hit into him hard must have picked his pocket. He feels for and finds the precious coins gone.

He sighs and goes to stand in the shadows. Waits no longer than several minutes. A man approaches. He steps out to intercept. “How about I suck your cock for ten credits?” How he hates himself when he has to ask this question of a stranger.

The man thinks about it for a moment. The eyes are completely black, almost like a shark--shark? What is a shark? Some type of animal? Predator? The man smiles. The teeth are nearly as black as the eyes. Almost demonic. “Why yes, that’s fine.”

He leads the man to a nearby alley.

Soon it becomes apparent that the man is in no mood for a mere blow job. No, no, no, the man insists upon throwing him bodily into the wall then flipping him around, yanking down his trousers and sticking his dick into his ass without preamble. He tries to fight the beast off, but this thing is much too strong. And no, the predator isn’t content to merely fuck him in the ass, he also wants to beat the living shit out of him afterwards, give him a few punches in the face and gut, leaving him bleeding and cowering in the corner and of course not pay him a damned coin for the trouble.

Finally there’s footsteps as the man runs off.

“Oh, fuck.” Levanek reaches up, feels his nose, looks at his hand. He snickers. In the shadows his blood appears red. But that would ridiculous. He does not have red blood. He is Romulan, his blood is green. It’s dark, so his eyes are playing games.

He knows now that he’s not gonna turn any tricks looking all beat up. So the next guy coming past him in the shadows doesn’t get his dick sucked but rather he takes the guy by surprise, punching him as hard as he can, knocking the poor guy to the ground. He kneels down next to the victim, the man stares up at him wide eyed. “Oh shit. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad,” he rasps out.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Just a couple credits.” Levanek finds himself reaching out not to hurt, he’s already done that, he wants...he wants to comfort. “Give me a couple credits, that’s all or...or... I’ll kill you. Are you okay?”

He has another vision of himself kneeling at a patient, checking the man’s vitals, he turns back to Jim. “I’m gonna have to take this man in for surgery--”

The man’s hysterical laugh rings out, bringing him to reality. The man spits out green blood before he reaches in his pocket and draws out his wallet, throwing it to him. “Could have just asked me for a handout.” He scrambles to his feet. “Crazy fucked up son of a bitch. You fucking thug!”

“I just need a couple credits,” Levanek stammers, wallet in hand but the guy runs off. “I don’t need everything you have, just a couple credits...” he tries to call out. But his victim is long gone.

He reaches down and wipes the blood off his mouth. Red covers his hand. Crouches there. Staring at the wallet. And his hand.

*

He had spent all afternoon standing in line for a replacement ID. Replacement ID’s are expensive. But he cannot work or collect food at the distribution center or walk down the streets legally without it. He finally convinces the woman at the window to grant him the replacement for no charge. He explains that he had been attacked and beaten one evening. His ID card and his tin of Goodfood stolen. The woman appears skeptical even with the bruises on his face. She eyes him with scorn and mutters to a coworker: “Spent all his credits on Opium, no doubt.”

Now he searches the area, looking for the den. Levanek is in that den. It must be around here somewhere but he cannot seem to locate it. The falling rain is a caress at first, but turns to a drenching downpour. Raining cats and dogs or even streetcars and busses as he’s heard Levanek mutter the phrase from time to time. He does not know what a cat or a dog is, some type of pet no doubt, but he is aware of what a streetcar and a bus is. He does not know where Levanek picked up such a comparison, but the violence of the downpour suggests the metaphor rather appropriate.

He ducks in and takes shelter in a doorway. He turns in place and realizes the door leads to a shop which is actually open, not boarded up like most other shops on the street. He peers through the window, squinting inside. A light is on. He grabs at the doorknob. It turns easily. He is still skeptical but he goes inside, there’s a bell that jangles when he shuts the door behind him. He finds himself standing in front of an elderly skeletal man. He glances around, still wondering if the place is not a front for something else, a den or a whorehouse perhaps.

The skeleton appears to read his mind. “It’s a bookstore.”

Spock nods. “Obviously.” All the better to keep him from the rain for a time.

He glides along an aisle of books, leaving the skeleton up at the front desk behind. Row upon row of dusty tomes. He cannot help but reach out a finger and run them along the spines. Their titles become visible as soon as the heavy layer is removed by his digits. Some he recognizes are titled in Ri'hansu, others are in a script he nearly recognizes but not quite. The smell--not quiet musty, but simply old paper-- comforts him in some way--something reminds him of home, somewhere...tries to think of his childhood and finds that he cannot-- It has never occurred to him before to try to think of those who bore and raised him but now that he does he cannot remember. There is a blank space where his family of origin should be. Odd.

He pauses at an ancient appearing book. He slides it out. Takes a moment to blow away the layer of dust. Studies the title: " _The Vulcan_ ".

The language is odd but he finds he can--barely-- understand it. What script is this? Fascinating.

He lets the book open up to a location middle of the way through. Why he does not start at the beginning, he does not know. He keeps jumping around.

_The Vulcan has graceful upswept eyebrows. The pinnae of the ear tapers at the top to a delicate point. The Vulcan's body stock is similar to a Romulan. The Vulcan typically appears with a subtle greenish hue to its skin. The Vulcan has Copper based blood which shows up green in oxygen. No blood pressure. A nictitating membrane protects the Vulcan's vision from bright lights, known as an ‘inner eyelid’. The heart is located on the left side of the torso, in between the rib and the pelvis. The Vulcan is a vegetarian by choice. The odor and consumption of meat will make it slightly nausious. The Vulcan does not like to touch its food with its hands, preferring to use utensils whenever possible. The Vulcan is not known to consume alcohol though it will in social situations. The Vulcan will become drunk by consuming cocoa and sucrose...._

Interesting. This Vulcan race. More interesting that it is nearly identical to a Romulan but the book refers to the Vulcan as an 'it'.

  _...The Vulcan has embraced logic, the concept of Cthia, the attempt at the complete control of emotions. The Romulan has no need for such foolish nonsense. The first settlers of the Romulan empire came from T'Khasi circa...._

_...Romulans and Vulcans have certain physiological differences. The Romulan does not become intoxicated from cocoa and sucrose...the Romulan does not possess the inner eyelid..._

_...The Vulcan experiences a phenonomom known as the pon farr, a hormone imbalance which occurs every seven years. During pon farr it must have sexual intercourse. If the Vulcan does not do so it will face insanity, loss of self control and death. However pon farr is not the only time the Vulcan feels sexual desire or engage in sexual activity....the Romulan does not experience pon farr._

_...the Romulan is the new improved, genetically perfect version of the Vulcan. The Romulan has no need for Vulcan mental abilities, Vulcan hocus pocus. Romulans are slightly physically stronger than the Vulcan. The language of Ri’hansu, is much more efficient than the verbose, ridiculous Vulkhansu..._

He is a Romulan, that is for sure. The more he reads this text he is convinced of it. He drinks blue ale on a daily basis which is alcohol, eats Goodfood which is meat, he has not experienced pon farr. Cocoa and sucrose, those items are banned by the government so he cannot test whether they would intoxicate him or not. He does not embrace logic. The concept of Cthia is alien to him. He does not control his emotions. He has been known to smile or laugh on occasion, show anger-- though the last time he did he did knows not when. There is not much on Prema to even cause one to laugh or smile. There is much to feel anger about but lately he feels nothing. His ears look like any other Romulan. As far as the inner eyelid, fascinating. Vulcans have this, but Romulans do not? Why do they have this? To protect their eyes from bright light? There is no bright light on Prema.

He flips through a few more pages. Comes to a new chapter: “ _The Vulcan Mindmeld_.”

Fascinating. Romulans do not have this ability. To touch and share minds. But the Vulcans do?

He makes his way back to the front desk. Thrusts the book at the skeleton. “How much is this?”

“Five credits.”

A princely sum--he will never manage to afford it. Perhaps he could save up the money somehow... “I would like to put the book on hold.”

The skeleton takes it from him. “Ah. This book. Yes--as a matter of fact--I don’t think I’m supposed to sell this. I have other literature you might prefer.” He pulls out an alternate book. “How about this one?”

“Negative. I would like to reserve this book.”

“Suit yourself you fool.” The skeleton seems to gulp and quiver. Spock regards him curiously. “Well,” Skeleton glances to and fro, “I can hold it for a week.”

“That will be sufficient.” Should he ask Levanek for the necessary credits? No. He already is ashamed of his recent dependance upon Levanek and the man’s unfortunate means of procuring money--no no no, there must be something he can pawn or sell, there should be something of value left in the apartment.

Skeleton nods and places a book on a shelf behind him. “Good day, Comrade.”

*

Spock stands at the entrance of the den. “Madame, I do not wish to imbibe, I am merely attempting to locate someone in particular inside your establishment.”

“Are you the police?”

He allows himself a smile, which seems alien to him, wrong, to express emotion in this way. “What do you think, Madame?”

“If you want to go in, It’ll cost you ten bits to enter,” the woman insists.

“Madame,” he says again. “I--”

Another woman this one much older appears at the entrance. “What’s going on?”

“Says he’s looking for someone, Madame Tui.”

Ah the correct place, Levanek has mentioned her name before, this Madame Tui. “I am searching for a young one named Levanek,” he tells her, “do you know him? He is a regular here.”

Madame Tui studies him not unkindly for a moment before she waves him in.

Inside is the pungent odor identical to the icky sicky sweet smell so often on Levanek’s breath. The man in question is reclining near the far wall on the last mat, his head on a rectangular blue and white ceramic pillow which--seems not for comfort, actually appears to merely be a shelf for the head, to be propped up--as Spock spots the other smokers doing. Levanek is staring at nothing in particular, perhaps in a daze. His face is covered in bruises.

Spock stretches out at the adjoining empty mat, turns on his side, places his own head on the ceramic pillow, mimicking Levanek’s posture. He waits.

Between them there is a surprisingly ornate lacquer tray filled with various paraphernalia Spock is not familiar with. His eyes move from Levanek’s injuries to dart over each object--each is a beautiful work of art in it’s own right. Fascinating. Exquisite.

Levanek finally does dein to acknowledge his presence, using the formal Ri'hansu word for grandfather: “Hru de ‘ranov,” he says, his eyelids at half mast.

Spock nods at him. “Greetings,” he replies in equally formal Ri’hansu.

Now Levanek switches to informal. “Thought you were asleep, old man.”

“I was. Last night. It is now the evening of the next day.”

“Oh...my... how time flies.”

“Indeed. How did you acquire those injuries?”

“What injuries?” Levanek’s voice is flat.

Their conversation is momentarily interrupted as Madame Tui comes up to them, leans over them. “Shall I roll one for you, sir?”

Spock hesitates then gives an answer. “Affirmative.”

“It will be five minutes to prepare your pipe,” Madame Tui tells him before bowing and sauntering off.

This seems to wake up Levanek out of his stupor. “Spock. Spock. Spock.”

“Yes, Levanek,” Spock says, giving him a challenging glance. “Why is your face in that condition?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So this is what you do of a day--recline in this establishment and smoke this flower. Soon I will discover for myself the allure of the poppy. Why you lay here for hours upon hours.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not having a smoke,” Levanek declares. “Bad enough you’re breathing this shit in, you can get high from just from the fumes. You don’t need....” He exhales. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What happened to you, Levanek? Who attacked you?”

“Nothing. Nobody.”

Spock reaches out to touch him, but of course the man draws back. “So you acquired those injuries from a phantom.”

Levanek sighs. “Shut up.” He snaps his fingers and one of the serving boys approaches, he reaches into a wallet, pulls out a credit. “My grandfather here is going to need the Chandu.” The boy takes the credit, nods and vanishes.

Spock eyes the wallet full of cash. “You appear to have a fair bit of money.”

“Well, if you’re gonna smoke, you’re not smoking the shit I put up with. You’re having the good stuff.”

“Whatever substance you imbibe is good enough for me. What is it called, Dross?”

“No it isn’t good enough.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t,” Levanek hisses. “I don’t want you smoking Opium at all. I want you to leave.”

“Where did you get the wallet full of money--?” Spock begins, then says: “Ah.”

Levanek’s eyes dip in shame. “Yes, old man. You’re absolutely right. I’m hor...rible.” He had obviously started out meaning to be sarcastic but his voice cracks on that word, there’s tears in the eyes.

“So your victim tried to defend himself against you,” Spock says, raising an eyebrow, “And got in a few punches before you finished with him.”

“I didn’t mean--” Levanek halts, clearing his throat.

“You and I are not thieves. Do you understand that?”

Spock halts saying any further as Madame Tui arrives with the freshly prepared pipe. She’s about to hand the pipe to Spock before he nods over to Levanek. “My... grandson is welcome to it.”


	6. Chapter 6

It is midnight when they leave Madame Tui behind. Spock is not in too great a hurry to return to their abode. The electricity meter will be off. Spock does not relish going to the basement at this time of night to feed it a coin. 

The moon, Romulus, is still a dingy, ominous, rusty hue. In spite of himself Spock shivers, not because of the cold and damp, he is used to it, but the moon...the moon....

As they walk the streets towards home, the way lit only by strings of small lamps, they come across a blimp hovering very low nearby. They can feel the rumble low in their chests. 

On the blimp’s screen, a comely, black haired girl in a schoolgirl shirt and tie flashes a wide smile. She announces in cutesy high Rihansu: ‘ _Please come to the rally. Please come to the rally. Please come to the rally. Please come to the rally. Please come to the rally_ ’. The screen is unnaturally bright. Glaring. The Rallygirl says ‘please’ and giggles but Spock knows this to be an act. The Rally is mandatory, not a request. They must attend this propaganda filled extravaganza. 

Loud speakers installed in various buildings echo a similar sentiment: “ _Please come to the rally_.” 

Figures stream out of their apartments, heading down the street, many clad in sleepwear. They stagger like old cattle to the slaughterhouse.

Spock glances over and notes that Levanek’s eyes are still heavy lidded. The man cannot walk straight without Spock’s assistance. He looks from side to side to see if anyone notices him grabbing the younger one’s arm. 

When Levanek sees the dirigible he groans low in his throat. “Hasn’t been a rally for weeks.”

“There must be some news,” Spock whispers back.

“Don’t wanna...why now....Just want to get to bed....” Levanek says this for only Spock’s hearing for even in this drugged state he is aware of the danger of speaking loudly his thoughts. 

They both know this rally will go on all night. There will be no sleep. 

Spock loosens his grip on the other’s arm. He is not supposed to touch him in such an intimate way. There are more bodies wandering the streets, so this action is unsafe. “Come, Levanek,” he verbally coaxes. Leading Levanek to the Rallyhaus. 

They move slower than all the others, due to Levanek’s stumbling. 

When they eventually arrive, they are amongst the stragglers. They give both of their names to the attendant at the window. She nods, chastises them for their lateness-- and checks them against the list. She waves them inside.

*

Rally is held in an old theatre--known during these times as the Rallyhaus. The building itself suggests it was once used for theatrical plays or the ballet or music, as there are bits of scenery strewn on the stage. An abandoned, rusting instrument here and there. Tickets. A half filled tub of moldy popcorn. There are no seats, the original being torn out long ago. The assembled stand. 

In daytime the theatre is used as a bingo hall when it is not a Rallyhaus on certain nights. Spock went to Bingo one time. However the incessant droning of the numbers on the loudspeaker put him into a trance that unnerved him. It took him a few hours--and some violent sexual activity with Levanek-- to clear his mind from it. He is gratified that Bingo attendance is not required. But it soon may well be, as Rally attendance is. This is not the only theatre in the city that holds Rallies. But this is the one they are assigned to. They can be sure that each Rallyhaus is showing the exact same program as every other Rallyhaus.

The rally always begins the same way with uplifting music. Then there is a newsreel. 

Then the giggly Rallygirl materializes on screen: “ _Humans_!” she says, with a hand to her gaping mouth. She gasps in exaggerated horror. 

The theatre erupts in jeers and shouts, fists are raised up. The girl giggles. The crowd shouts. She giggles again. The crowd holds up their fists. The girl shouts and giggles again.

A film is shown. Ominous music. The blue world known as the Earth World. One of eight planets in the Milky Way Galaxy. Illustrated in the film is the population of Earth’s behavior over the last thousand years. It’s wars. The film shows how the Earther has attacked the Romulan Empire, enslaved their people, terrorized our city. Bombed us. Killed our fellow upstanding Romulans. It shows how the Earthers engage in animalistic pursuits. Physical affection. Sex crimes. Murder. War. et. al. Next is a explanation on how the Earthers have polluted their world. They seem to be the scourge of the universe. A good riddance.

Another film is shown: The Romulan Empire. How wonderful it is, how marvelous, beautiful, gleaming. Perfect. How we are far more advanced than this pitiful, disgusting Earth world. We are peaceful except when the Earth World forces us into war. 

The assembled cheer. Their chests swell with home pride. They sing the uplifting song: ' _Prema Our Prema_.'

Rallygirl comes back on screen. She giggles again and gives a long speech to explain how the Romulan Empire has rose up and conquered the Earth world. 

An image is shown. Earth implodes upon itself. The crowd goes wild with cheers.

“Yeah!” Levanek yells out, next to Spock. “Conquer them! Bless the Praetor! Fuck, those Earth scum! Look at that planet go!”

The program ends with a new painting of the Praetor. The song: 'Bless The Praetor' is sung. 

Spock finds the program confusing--did our Romulan Empire just destroy Earth? The Praetor ordered it's destruction? 

Others seem to be enjoying it. Happy and thrilled at the new developments. Spock blinks at this news. This cannot be. 

This is not the end of the evening. The program is repeated. It is repeated several times. Several of the crowd now mouth the speeches along with Rallygirl. They never know how many times on a Rallynight this will be repeated. Some times it is only repeated once. Other nights it can be seven times. 

Spock feels Levanek (as the theatre is crowded) shift from foot to foot next to him, blinking. Levanek is tired, wants to rest his head on him, maybe go to sleep. But if he did so they would both be arrested.

*

It is dawn when they finally return to their humble abode. Spock helps him into the bedroom, undresses him down to his underpants, then lays him down on the bed. There are many more dark red cuts and bruises on Levanek’s body. Spock notes that the cuts should be green and bruises dark blue/green but they curiously are not. Levanek has not mentioned the discrepancy to him. He should get the astringent for the cuts but first he indulges himself in caresses. 

“Go to sleep, Old Man. It was a long night,” Levanek murmurs.

Spock is not tired. Not at all. A world has just been destroyed. He tries to calm himself. He traces along the extremely visible ribcage. “Levanek, do you remember when we first met?” 

Levanek winces at the touch. “Hum? No.”

“Neither do I,” Spock says. “Do you not find that odd?”

“What?”

“That you and I both do not remember meeting one another.”

“I dunno,” Levanek mutters. “Maybe we have always been together.”

“From birth? Impossible. We must have met for the first time at one point in our lives, then we must have decided to become lovers then live together at another point.”

“I guess. If you put it like that. I don’t really know.”

“However, I cannot remember any of those first times. Are you saying, that you cannot remember as well?”

“Ow.” Levanek winces again. 

“Does it cause you discomfort when I touch you there?” Spock lets his hand ghost over the spot on Levanek’s rib and the man winces again.

“Yes," Levanek grits out. “Look Spock, I’m too busy surviving the present to think about the past.”

Spock will not give up. “Levanek. Do remember your parents? Those who bore you, raised you?”

“Huh?” Levanek hesitates a moment. “‘Course I do...wait a minute. No.” He sounds surprised at this. “No, I can’t. I’m drawing a blank--I can’t remember my childhood at all. My past. Meeting you. It’s all gone.”

“You cannot remember? Are you certain?”

“I can’t remember. I’m serious. I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I.”

“That’s strange.” Levanek turns his head and blinks at him, his eyes huge. “So...why wouldn’t we be able to remember? Are you saying the government somehow wiped our memories? They wouldn’t do such a thing. I should have you arrested for such talk.” He grunts as he suddenly sits up, seemingly with extreme difficulty.

“You appear to have broken a rib.”

“Not broken, only bruised. I wouldn’t be able to get up this easily if it was.”

“You speak from experience.”

“I don’t know, Old Man. I don’t know anything.”

Spock shakes his head. Hair is falling into the younger one’s eyes, Spock reaches up to brush it off Levanek’s temple and feels something electric flow from his fingertips up his arm and to his cortex. 

Levanek jerks away out of his reach. “Ow! What was that?”

The sensation dazes Spock for a few moments, he pauses to get his bearings. That must have been the mind meld he had read about in that book. He must have touched the other in the precise points to activate it. According to the book, only Vulcans can achieve this. Fascinating. He is not a Vulcan yet he was able to do this-- “I...I...do not know...did I injure you?”

“Fuck the Praetor, it feels like....” Levanek shakes his head as if to clear it. “As if there was something crawling up the back of my spine up my neck and into my brain. What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Fascinating.”

“I’ve never felt anything like it.” Levanek shakes his head again. “Wow.”

“Shall I do it again?” He must attempt this again. It was a fluke the first time, he should not have been able to--

Levanek shrinks back. “No. No. Better not, doesn’t seem safe. I don’t think the government would approve of something like that.”

“Let me do it again,” Spock requests, finding himself desperate.

“No.”

“I must beg of you, to allow me to do it again.”

“Why?”

“I read about this...in a book,” Spock finally admits. 

“A what?”

“A book.”

“What’s a book?”

Spock studies the other curiously. “You do not know what a book is?”

“No.”

“Fascinating.”

“Stop patronizing me and tell me what it is.”

“A book has text, pages are held together by a spine.”

“Oh,” Levanek says, but somehow he does not seem to understand. “What was in this book?”

Spock shakes his head.

Levanek’s eyes grow wide. “Spock, I don’t think you should--”

“Apparently through a mind meld one can see your thoughts. Your feelings. Even your memories. When I apply my fingers to specific pressure points.”

“That’s crazy. Just from touching me there? Why are you able to do this all of a sudden? I mean, you’ve never mentioned this before.”

Spock does not tell him what else he read. “I do not know.”

Levanek rubs his temples, eyes as wide as saucers. “Damn the Praetor, now I have a headache.” Blood begins to drip from one nostril. Spock reaches toward him to wipe it but again Levanek draws back.

“Levanek.”

“Yes?”

“Your blood. It is red.”

“No, no, no.” Levanek smiles. He takes his hand to his nose, pinching it. “It’s not red. It’s just a trick in this dim light, Old Man. Really.”

“I know what I am seeing. The color red.”

“Trick of the light.”

“Your blood is red, Levanek.”

“I don’t have red blood you nitwit,” Levanek hisses, stops pinching his nose but keeps his hand there. “My blood is green. Like a Romulan. You are concussed, of course you’re seeing crazy things, hallucinations, the wrong colors!”

“It is definitely red.”

“Trick of the light.”

Spock does not wish to become violent with his lover but blood and all he grabs a fistful of Levanek’s hair, grabs Levanek’s wrist, pulls his head down to force him to look at what is in his own hand. “It is red.”

Levanek scrunches up his eyes. “No. No. No. It’s green, Spock. It’s green.”

“Look at it.”

“No.”

“Human blood is red. The inmate 90802EB has red blood like yours.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. I’m not a filthy human.”

Spock lets go of Levanek’s wrist and hair, leans over, places his head against Levanek’s chest. 

“Now, what are you doing?”

“Listening to the beats of your heart.”

“My heart,” Levanek frantically points to his left side, “Is right here you idiot.”

“No. Human hearts are here. I can hear it.” He sits up. “Feel for yourself.” He places Levanek’s hand on his chest. “Feel the beats.”

Levanek stares at him a moment, “You’ve gone mad--you’ve hit your head that’s all, Spock, that’s all that’s wrong, you’ve hit your head.” He tries to sit up. “See? You’re hallucinating, that’s all.”

“Feel the beats,” Spock insists. “Do you feel them?”

“No,” Levanek insists. “My heart is not there.”

“It is.”

“You’re mad!” Levanek shouts. “You’ve gone mad!”

“Shhhhh!” Spock holds up his hands, then hisses: “I have never...before now...noticed what color your blood is,” Spock says. “Why have I never noticed before?”

“It’s because you’re imagining things. I’m Romulan, Spock. Come on, I’ll give you some of that laudanum and everything will be okay. Alright? I’ve always had green blood. I have green blood.” Levanek closes his eyes. “My heart is right here,” he points to his side. 

“Your blood is red. You see it as well, you know this. You are a Human.”

“I don’t believe you. Don't talk any more about my blood or books or mind melds or me being a filthy Human, Old Man, or I’ll have you turned in to the authorities. Have you committed to the crazy house, where you probably should have already been put.”

Spock sits up. “I suppose you must do so. Whatever you think is best.”

Levanek, with extreme obvious difficulty, also gets out of bed. “Don’t you worry you crazy old Man. I will.”

“Please do.”

“You think I won’t dare, Spock,” Levanek calls back behind him as he pads to the kitchen. “Well, I will. I promise you that.”

“I would like for you to do so.”

“Crazy fuck. With your crazy hocus pocus, shit, what did you say that was again, that thing you did?”

“A mind meld.”

“You never did that before. You weren’t talking this way before your concussion. Yes that must be it. You’re ill. Have some more laudanum.”

“I do not require any more.”

“I should tell the government. Maybe you belong back in that hospital. Fuck, I’m bleeding all over the place.” Levanek goes into the bathroom.

* 

With the solitary butcher knife, the metal glinting, Levanek spreads margarine on the slice of bread for Spock. Then prepares one for himself. He grabs the rusty can opener, opens up the tins of Goodfood. First one is for Spock, than one for himself. 

 

‘ _Kinda gets you in the old heart, right here.’ He puts a fist to his chest. ‘Or in your case, Mr. Spock’, he moves his hand down to his side. ‘Right about here.’_

_‘I am gratified for the biology lesson, Dr. McCoy.’_

_They’re on the bridge, where they’ve stood together many many times after a tough mission. He on the left, Spock on the right. He glances down, Jim is in his captain’s chair, smiling and barely holding back a laugh._

_Spock is young--looks so damned young. Sleek black hair, but the eyes are the same. Dark brown but they show up hazel sometimes in the light. He’s beautiful--_

 

“Levanek,” Spock calls out from the bedroom. “Is supper ready?” 

“Yeah, yeah, Old Man. Come and get it.”

*

Spock stops at his reflection in the bathroom glass, or what’s left of the mirror anyway--it was broken long ago. He turns on the single bulb. This light will not be enough to lower an inner eyelid, according to the book, but he tries to see if he can detect it. He pries up his eyelid with a finger.

“What are you doing, Spock?” Levanek says from behind him. “I said supper was ready.”

“I am looking at my eyes.”

“Why? What’s the matter? Is your concussion bothering you?”

 

_“Unusual eye arrangement. I might have known he’d turn up with something like that.”_

_“What’s that, Dr. McCoy?” Kirk asks._

_“Goddamned inner eyelid--protects his eyes against extreme bright light. Goddamn, I should have known. And...Please don’t tell Spock I said he was the best first officer in the fleet.”_

_He turns around, sees the captain and McCoy standing together. “Why thank you, Doctor.” He turns back around, performs his duties._

_Kirk chuckles. “Bones, you’ve been so concerned with his Vulcan eyes. You forgot about his Vulcan ears.”_

_“Nah, can’t ever forget about those pointy things.”_

 

“Spock? Spock?” Levanek asks. “Spock? Answer me.”

“Yes, Levanek.”

“Light’s not good enough in there, what’s wrong?”

Spock releases his eye. “Nothing.”

*

They eat in silence. The tins of cold Goodfood. The government wants them to eat this. At the rally there were constant advertisements and announcements of new incentives such as the ‘Goodfood for Goods’ program. They are to clip stamps from each label of Goodfood. Then when enough is collected they can be exchanged for a voucher to purchase household items. They do need plenty of household items. 

“It’s good, isn’t it.” Levanek scowls around his spoon. “Healthy. Right?”

“Affirmative.”

“Goodfood is good food for you,” Levanek says, mimicking an advertisement. “They wouldn’t give it to us, if it wasn’t.”

“Not at all, Levanek.”

Spock watches as the man pushes his half eaten tin aside, gets up to fetch a glass, pouring out a double measure of blue ale. He gets the bottle of Laudanum. Spock catches his wrist. 

“I need it.” Levanek grits his teeth and picks up another glass. “I have a pounding headache, thanks to you and your fucking mind meld. Here. Have some ale.” It is the plain wrap blue ale from the distribution center. The quality, now that they’ve had the ‘Rihansu Ale’ from the bazaar is notably inferior, but the effect of the alcohol is the same if not stronger. The ale acts as an emollient of sorts even during the best of times, when they are not in...despair. “Come on. Have some ale, Spock. It will do you good.”

“You said I was addicted.”

“Rallygirl said addiction to blue ale and Gitanes was impossible. Why would she lie?”

Spock sighs. “I will have a small amount of ale.”

“Good, Old Man. Good.” Levanek pours a double measure and is poised to put several drops of the drug. 

“Without the Laudanum, thank you.”

“Come on, it will make you feel better. Remember your concussion.”

“I do not want laudanum, thank you.”

“One drop, Spock. Just have one.”

“As long as it is only one.”

“The med tech said at least three.”

“One. Levanek.”

“Alrigth. Suit yourself.” Levanek puts a single drop in Spock’s, then several drops into his own glass of ale.

“That many, Levanek? That is an overdose.”

“For the pain. I’m okay, just banged up. I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“The person you robbed--”

“No. Someone else beat me up.” Levanek looks down.

“I see.”

Levanek takes a few sips of the Laudanum infused ale. He appears to relax, eyelids lowering for a moment. He picks up the butcher knife.

Spock watches curiously then starts when he realizes what the younger man is about to do. “No--”

“Shhhh.” Levanek’s face remains completely impassive when he takes the knife and slices his own palm. He lets the fluid flow down his wrist. He dips a finger in in and holds it up. “You’re right, Spock. I’m not Romulan.” He grins madly. “See?”

Spock’s up, quick as a flash to grab the man’s hand, stemming the bleeding. Pressing flesh against the wound. 

Levanek snickers at his haste. “Relax old man. I just wanted to see the color.”

“You fool.”

Levanek nods as he lets Spock look after him. “The Rally. Spock. The Rally. Shit.”

“The Rally,” Spock repeats. “Mere...propaganda.”

“Earth is destroyed.”

“Yes.”

“A job well done. Right?”

“Affirmative.”

“Everyone was happy. It’s supposed to be a good thing. The destruction of Earth.”

“Apparently.”

“I looked happy at the rally, didn’t I?”

“The happiest.”

“I did not feel very happy.”

“Nor did I.”

“I felt dead inside as I watched the screen. We were supposed to feel happy.”

“Elated.”

“I felt...horrified.”

“As I.”

“We did not feel on the inside how we looked on the outside, did we.”

“We did not.”

“We could be arrested for that. We should be arrested for that. I should turn us both in.”

“Affirmative.”

“Humans are from Earth, are they not?”

Spock hesitates. 

“Spock. Humans. They never said what Earth people are. They only made one reference to the filthy Humans. Humans are from the Earth World. Aren’t they?”

Spock racks his memory once again--he is at a loss. “I believe so. They could originate from Earth, could be--”

“For some reason...I felt...I feel....that I know Humans are from Earth. If I am a Human, then it would be logical that the Earth World is...was my home.” Levanek’s voice has gone down to a barely discernible whisper. “Are there any Humans on this world, free?”

Spock considers this for a moment. “No, there are not.”

“They’re all imprisoned. Aren’t they. Isn’t that prisoner that you mentioned...Human?”

“Yes. He is.”

“Do you think I was born on Earth?” 

“Do you not truly know where you were born?”

Levanek shakes his head. “the Earth World's inhabitants are nasty creatures, animals, scum of the universe. Rallygirl said at the Rally--so it was a good thing that it was destroyed. It was a good thing.”

“There must be other inhabitants of Earth besides Humans. Humans also must reside on other worlds.”

“How would Humans get on the other worlds, Spock? Do they have technology? They must, if they can travel over here and attack us.”

“I do not know.”

“Is it a good thing, Spock?” There are tears in the other’s eyes. “The destruction of the Earth World. Tell me, is it a good thing? Humans are evil. Right? That’s what they say. Why would Rallygirl lie?”

Spock finds himself swallowing hard at that, something about Levanek’s tragically childlike questions, demeanor, devastates him. “No one has the right to destroy a world, Beloved.”

“You know that and I know that. Spock. Imagine all the billions of lives lost--gone--just like that. It’s not good.”

“No. It is not.”

“So why did they say it was? Why did Rallygirl say it was good? Why was everyone cheering at the news? What has Earth ever done to us?”

“Earth attacked the Romulan Empire, apparently.”

“Have you ever noticed an attack? Any mention on the news?"

“Negative."

“Oh...They’ve never mentioned Earth ever attacking us before.” Levanek’s breathing sounds labored so Spock places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. 

“Spock,” Levanek says.

“Yes?”

“Earth has never attacked us. Has Prema ever experienced war? I can't remember. The government suddenly says we were attacked and that’s supposed to be--” Levanek’s voice is small, frightened. Spock looks down at their joined hands, Levanek’s red blood is starting to stream over onto his own hand. He drags the man into the bathroom, takes the towel, wraps it over the hand, ties it tight. Levanek crouches on the floor. “Maybe the government is correct...Rallygirl is right. Who am I? I'm nobody. Just some... I don’t know, things are...screwed up. Up is down, right is left, I don’t know who I am anymore. I have red blood. My heart is in my chest as you said it was. Maybe I am one of those filthy Human Earthers. I am the enemy. The Earth World attacked Prema, so they deserve to die. Right?”

Spock studies the anguish in Levanek's eyes. 

"Don't do that damned thing, you did before. Alright? Whatever the hell it was, Spock, when you touched my face. Don't do that again."

"The mind meld?"

"Yeah. It's not right and it's...I dunno....don't do it again."

"I will not."

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Spock glances down and sees the pool of red on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Spock arises from his slumber. Levanek is still asleep on the bed, facing away from him, to the wall. The moon is still out, red as always.

Spock reaches over and lays a hand on the younger one’s side.

“Umph,” Levanek says.

“Let me see your hand.” Levanek grumbles but flips onto his back and obediently holds it up for inspection. The wound does not look good. “Wait here.”

“Hmmmm. Alright, whatever you say. Get me a cigarette, would ya?”

Spock goes into the kitchen. Goes to the cupboard, fishes out two Gitanes. He strikes a match and lights the both of them. He enters the bathroom for some of their precious astringent, not much of it left-- and a clean-ish cloth. He returns to the bedroom. He hands Levanek the cigarette who sucks on it as if his life is dependent on it. He has his own cigarette in his mouth. He unwraps the younger one's hand.

Of course Levanek fusses. “Cloth isn’t sterile...you’re gonna cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Your hand looks as if it is becoming infected.”

“It’s fine.”

“I should take you to hospital.”

“No. You can’t. Not if I’m bleeding red. The government will find out I’m a filthy Human. Then what? They’ll imprison or kill me too. Who’ll take care of you if I’m in prison, huh?” Levanek huffs out a smoke filled laugh. “Ow, son of a bitch. Leave it alone.”

“What if you develop a serious infection?”

“Maybe I deserve it,” Levanek mutters. “I deserve to die. In agony.”

Spock rolls his eyes, flicks the cigarette, letting the ash fall onto the floor. “You do not deserve to die.”

“Yes I do. Filthy Human Earther is what I am.”

“You are ridiculous, Beloved.”

“No I’m not.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Spock puts down his Gitane. He lays down on the bed, takes the younger one's cigarette away from him, and stubs it out on the wall. He scoops the other one into his arms and holds onto him. Listens to the other’s fast thrumming heartbeat in his chest and those ragged breaths. Levanek doesn’t fight him just gives out a moan. Spock turns the other’s face to his, meets the other’s mouth with his own.

Levanek pulls his head away. “What are you doing?”

“That is a kiss.”

“Putting your mouth on mine? That’s a kiss? Never heard of it. Where’d you learn that?”

“Did you enjoy it?” Spock asks. “I will not do it again if you do not.”

“I dunno.” Levanek scrunches up his face. He looks down at the dark crusty blood on his hand. “You should turn me in to the police. Immediately.”

“I will not.”

“Why not?”

Spock sighs. “I will not turn you in.”

“You should. You silly old man. You’ll be arrested for not turning me in. Harboring a Human.”

“If you are imprisoned, who would look after me then?” Spock says.

Levanek smiles. “They’re gonna find out.”

“I will make certain that they do not.”

“Mmmmmm,” Levanek replies. “Go away, Old Man and let me sleep.”

Spock rewraps the hand in the original filthy bandage. He wishes there was something cleaner. “I need to obtain some proper medical supplies.”

“Good luck.”

“I will leave you to sleep. I go to the distribution center to pick up ‘Goodfood’.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You must eat, you are much too thin.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Levanek breathes out, putting the bandaged hand to his face. “Don’t go to the centre--please. Don’t go there.”

“Why not?”

“I just...I don’t want that shit.”

“Where would you like me to go?”

Levanek licks his lips, says with a gulp and a gleam in his eyes: “Shop at the bazaar.”

“The bazaar?”

“Yeah. Get something--" He snaps his fingers. "I know. I want some chicken eggs and...and...bacon and a huge hunk of bread and some coffee.”

Spock smirks at that. “You do not ask for much, do you.”

“I haven’t seen you smile in a long time, Spock. I love your smile.”

Spock rolls his eyes. "Will you eat it, if I purchase it?"

"Yes. I'll eat it." Levanek singsongs.

Spock studies him a moment. He pulls Levanek’s face towards him and kisses him on the mouth.

“Stop that. I don’t know why you keep kissing me like that...isn’t very sanitary. I haven’t brushed my teeth in eons. Doesn’t my breath smell bad?"

“Yes.”

“Well, then. Leave me the fuck alone. Where did you learn that nasty thing anyway?”

“I enjoy the sensation of pressing my mouth against yours.”

“It isn’t proper though. I’m not sure the government would allow something like that.”

Spock shrugs.

“I bet that’s what those filthy Humans did--kissed like that. Did you see them holding hands in public? Copulating on the city streets? Did you see that in that Rallyfilm?”

“I did.”

“Don’t kiss me again. It’s disgusting.”

“It is.” Spock kisses him again, his hands slide down to see if Levanek is aroused by such an action. No, he remains flaccid.

Levanek finally manages to wriggle away from him. “Stop it!”

“Do wish me to stop?”

“Yeah. I said I did.”

“You do not enjoy this? You are a Human.”

“Shut the fuck up, with that filthy Human shit.” Spock knows Levanek is annoyed but still he tries again, Levanek bats him away. “Would you stop? Please?”

“As you wish.”

“Listen,” Levanek says in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Food--the edible stuff--will be expensive but I have money. The wallet...in my trousers.”

Spock sighs, he would rather not purchase this grand meal with stolen credits, but he goes ahead and fishes out the wallet. He opens it and pulls out an identity card to a government agent. Solag’e De’ackmar. Only government agents are allowed to have two names. Those are the rules. “Levanek.”

Levanek rolls over. “Um?”

“It would be wise if we dropped this wallet off, returned it to it’s rightful owner--there is an ID card showing the man’s name and address.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll do it, Spock.”

“We must return it.”

“I said ‘we will’. Sans money.”

“Levanek.”

“We need the money, Spock. We both know it.”

Spock huffs. He shoves the wallet back into the pocket of Levanek’s trousers. “I shall return shortly.”

"Get me another cigarette, Spock, would ya?"

Spock sighs and picks up the already lit one he had been smoking. "Here." He hands it over.

*

At the bazaar Spock finds himself indulging in haggling for the items until he is able to get the shopkeepers down to acceptable prices. He makes his way from stall to crowded stall making several sorely needed purchases.

He then heads over to the bookstore where the book will be waiting for him. He wants to show it to Levanek--teach the younger one about the Vulcan.

He stops short in dismay.

There is a chain with a padlock on the door. The windows of the establishment are boarded up. He runs a finger along the wood, the rusty nails, down the wood again, not caring if a splinter lodges deep into his skin.

He utters a curse word, not in Rihansu, but in another language...which his mind identifies as Vulhkansu, the language the Vulcans speak. There is panic in the pit of his stomach. The word has never crossed his lips before. He looks around to see if anyone has heard him, but no one is about. For that he is grateful.

*

Spock returns to the apartment. He sets the paper bag filled with purchases down on the table.

He is pleased to note that Levanek is already up and moving around. “Smells good, Old Man.”

Spock unpacks the containers of the fried eggs, the bacon and the canteen of real coffee. Levanek sits down and proceeds to devour his portion of it. “Mmmm. I’ve forgotten what real food tastes like. I don’t know why I suddenly have a craving for it. Delicious.”

“Goodfood IS real food,” Spock counters. “The government says so.”

“You’re right, you’re right, you’re right,” Levanek mumbles in between mouthfuls.

“I am gratified that you are pleased with the purchases.” Spock begins to eat his own portion of food but halts and stares at it.

“What’s the matter, Spock, is it too cold?”

“Negative.”

“What’s wrong?”

The odor of meat, real meat like this--pungent bacon and eggs from a chicken-- turns his stomach. He slides his food over to the other. “Eat. I will have the bread and butter.”

“I can’t take your food, Old Man. You’re hungry.”

“Eat. I insist.”

“Alright, suit yourself.” Levanek helps himself to it but sneezes into his hand periodically as he eats.

Meanwhile, Spock dives into the bag on the table. He pulls out bathing soap, clean bandages, more astringent, a clean towel, two new toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. “For you, Beloved.”

“You just want to kiss me, you son of a bitch.”

Spock shrugs. “We both need the toiletries.  And I intend to look after your hand.”

“You blow all our credits, Spock?”

“Negative.” He slides over several coins to the younger one. “You will want to go to the den shortly, I surmise?”

Levanek throws him a sideways glance. “Uh, Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

The electricity suddenly cuts out. As the sun has not come up yet--they are pushed into darkness. They both let out a groan in dismay. Time to feed the meter.

“I will go down,” Spock offers.

“Take the butcher knife with you.” ‘For protection’, is the unstated warning.

*

Levanek enters the apartment setting a bucket down on the floor and two full shopping bags on the table. “Evening, Spock.”

“Where have you been?”

“Wrangling you supper and some supplies.” Levanek sneezes into his hand then sniffles.

“Supplies? For what? Did you go to the den?” Spock wonders. There is something about Levanek that is unusual--he is completely sober for this time of the evening.

Spock opens the bag to find ingredients to make salad. He raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve uh...been avoiding meat. Oh yeah, I noticed. So there is some vegetables and there’s beans for you tomorrow.” Levanek pulls out a bag of uncooked lima beans. “You’ll eat beans won’t you?”

“We have no gas nor pot to cook them in.”

“Haven’t got a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of, huh, Spock?” Levanek chuckles, then frowns, then sneezes once again. “I wonder where I got that saying from. Anyway, look--” He digs into one paper bag, pulls out a metallic cooking pot and spins it around in his hands. “Pot. Not to piss in, but to cook out of.” Levanek turns a nob on the tiny stove. “Smell that? Gas.”

Levanek lights the pilot and with a flash there is the blue telltale fire emitting from the range. They stare at it in awe for a moment.

“Cooking fire is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Levanek declares.

“How did you manage to get the gas turned back on?”

“Easy. I paid the bill.”

“We were in serious arrears.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How did you pay? With what currency?”

“I didn’t suck anybody’s dick, if that’s what you mean.”

Spock turns away from him in disgust, but yes that is exactly what he had implied.

“I paid credits,” Levanek insists. “Now we’re squared away. Now we have gas.”

“And hot water.”

“Yeah. That too.” Levanek smiles.

Levanek waves him away so that he can prepare the evening meal. Spock goes into the bathroom to wash up. He returns to the kitchen and sits down. “Did you go to the den today?”

Levanek sets a plate in front of him. “Eat.” He sits down on the other side of him. “Know what, old man? You ask two many questions. For your information,” he sneezes into his hand again, “No, I did not go to the den today.”

“I thought you needed to visit every day.”

“I’m addicted to Opium. Did you know that?”

“Yes. I am fully aware.”

“Really truly addicted.”

“Yes.”

“I thought...you know...that I could keep my habit under control but....” Levanek shakes his head and coughs again. “Eat your food, Spock. I think, I maybe want to quit. Actually I know that I want to quit.”

Spock takes a bite of his salad and considers this. “Quit Opium?”

“Yeah.”

Spock nods. “Good.”

“It’s not gonna be easy,” Levanek says in a halting voice. “I’m sneezing right now, I’m terribly congested. At first it’s minor Influenza symptoms, known as ‘Opium Flu’ but soon, it’s gonna be hellish. I will get very ill.”

“I shall look after you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Alright. Yes, I will need your help. l....” Levanek trails off, gulps then smiles.

Spock reaches over and places his hand over the other’s.


	8. Chapter 8

For a time they simply sit at the kitchen table waiting for the withdrawal symptoms to begin.

“Should you not lie down?” Spock asks.

“No. Don’t feel like it.” Levanek gets up and paces the kitchen.

Spock watches him move back and forth and back and forth with concern for several moments. He gets up and pours himself a glass of blue ale. “Would you like some?”

“No. No alcohol. It’ll just make things worse.” Levanek darts over to the counter. He digs into the bag and draws out three bottles of water. “Look what I got.”

Spock picks up the glass bottle, studies the clear liquid within. “I have not seen real bottled water in....I cannot remember the last time.”

“Hmph. This stuff is rare. If I really am a Human, I need water. Safe water. I wonder what state my kidneys are in.”

Spock gets up, goes to the carton of Gitanes. “Have a cigarette, Levanek.”

Levanek hesitates a moment. “Oh, alright.”

Spock lights Levanek’s then his own with a single match.

Levanek takes a long drag on it, blowing out a smoke ring above his head. He is beginning to perspire. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Negative.”

Levanek removes his shirt. He so thin. “Huh. That’s better.” He sneezes, wiping his nose with his hand. He takes another long drag on that cigarette. “Can’t remember when I picked up this bad habit.”

“Nor do I.”

“The government gives out parcels of cigarettes like it’s a goddamned necessity. We don’t need cigarettes. You sure as hell don’t. I hear you coughing every morning. We don’t need blue ale. Imagine what that stuff’s doing to our livers? We sure as shit don’t need ‘Goodfood’. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Hmm.”

Levanek takes another long drag of his cigarette. “Why does the government give us stuff that we don’t need? Stuff that’s harmful? Like recreational drugs. They’re readily available and cheap. But real food is ridiculously expensive. The government gives us that inferior ‘Goodfood‘ crap. What the hell’s in goodfood anyway?”

“I assume it is good food.”

“The ingredients aren’t labeled. Could be executed prisoner meat for all we know. Why doesn’t the government give us soap to wash with, so we don’t have to constantly smell putrid, stinking bodies? Can’t you smell them when you go to work? Rotten ass crack?”

Spock’s mouth twitches at that. “You have finally noticed.”

“Yeah. Today I couldn’t get over how nasty people smell. Do you notice most people have rotten teeth? We hear all the time at the Rallies how great Prema is. Well is it? Electricity is shitty. Rats and roaches everywhere. Bus service, ridiculous. The tube, forget it, boarded up along time ago. When’s the last time you saw any children playing in the local playground? Those, my dear Spock, are necessities. When’s the last time we had any coal for our fireplace? Coal’s not even on sale at the bazaar anymore.”

Spock glances over at the unused hole in the wall. He spies a rat escaping through it. “Coal was banned some time ago.”

“Is there any fuel to replace the coal? No there isn’t! You’re always cold.”

“It is not that bad.”

“It IS bad. This place is horrible. You know what, Spock.” Levanek pounds his fist on the kitchen table. “I hate Prema!”

There is a sharp tap, tap, tap on their wall. The next door neighbor. Their voices must be too loud.

“Beloved, we would be wise to descest criticizing the government. Too easy to be overheard by the wrong person.”

“You are too afraid, old man,” Levanek says, taking another long, long drag. “Too afraid.”

Spock watches as Levanek carefully opens up the lid of the bottle and drinks from it. “Are you certain it is safe for consumption--this water?”

“It’s fine. I’m sure. The seller is trustworthy. Would you like a sip, Spock?”

“It is tempting but you require this water.”

“Go on, have some.” Levanek slides over the bottle.

Spock takes the tiniest sip possible. “Hmm.”

“Isn’t it good?”

Levanek appears to become more and more congested as the hours go on. Coughing and sneezing, mostly. His throat grows hoarse as he chain smokes cigarette after cigarette. His hands shake. He removes his trousers. Sits at the table in the nude before he gets up and paces the floor again. He complains of being hot, yet he shivers violently.

“You should lie down,” Spock says.

“No!” Levanek says though clenched teeth. “I don’t want to. Alright?”

Seemingly out of thin air the younger man produces a deck of playing cards, an object Spock had not seen in, well, perhaps he has never remembered seeing such a thing. The younger one sits down again and teaches him a simple game. Possibly it diverts him from brooding over the symptoms. Levanek shuffles in an obsessive manner. Over and over again.

“Where’s the Laudanum?” Levanek asks suddenly.

“I poured it down the drain.”

Levanek barks out a laugh. “Seems ironic that the very thing I’m addicted to and cannot have right now--is the very thing that can treat my symptoms. Laudanum is good for diarrhea.”

“Will you have diarrhea?”

“Oh yes. You just wait and see.”

“I should obtain some more Laudanum then.”

“No, no, you were right to get rid of it. No drugs. Opium needs to be completely out of my system.” Levanek begins biting his fingernails. He gulps. “Ohhh,” he gasps out, grabbing hold of his abdomen.

*

He’s thrashing around and he is yelling, screaming out, he thinks. And Spock the old man is there to stop him, sooth him, help him maybe. The old man tries to to get him to lay down on the bed and give him water and he’s resisting, hitting out at him, punching him, pulling his hair. “Leave me the fuck alone. No don’t go--please don’t go. Please don’t go. Don't leave me.”

He doesn't believe the old man when he is told: "I am not going anywhere, Beloved. Shhhh."

Oh, he paces and now he darts to the toilet and stays there. “Oh fuck the Praetor...fuck the Praetor....” The shitting starts, the runs, again and again and again. And ohgodohgod his stomach feels it’s twisting inside out and it hurts and his ass is already raw and there’s gonna be much more of this and there is. He doesn’t even want to wipe it hurts too bad. He falls off the toilet and crawls onto the filthy bathroom floor and lays there, mewing. Then the puking starts, it’s everywhere. There’s a buzzing in his ears, a severe headache. And now it’s coming out at both ends and fuck he is dying, that is it. This is the worst pain he has ever felt. This drug is gonna kill him and leave him a putrid stinking rotted corpse for Spock to have to dispose of someplace. Spock will never be able to afford to bury his remains he doesn’t want Spock to have to suck any cocks to make enough money to bury his rotten ass and oh fuck the Praetor he should have never quit the Opium why did he try to quit was he out of his goddamned mind he must have been out of his goddamned mind. fuck he is out of his fucking mind. Where’s the opium...where is it...ohhh fuck....and he can’t take it anymore--

“Spock. Go see Mademe Tui, get some--”

“Shhh. You will be alright.”

He hears water. There’s a bath run and he’s picked up off the filthy floor and bodily hefted into the tub. “Leave me the fuck alone!” But once he’s in that warm water it’s soothing, and he moans and the old man is rubbing his back and his entire body and that feels good and he’s apologizing and the old man is telling him it will be quite alright, it will be over soon.

He pants and moans. “You stupid crazy fucking old man, how the fuck do you know?! Huh? How the fuck do you know?”

*

Levanek is thrashing about. Flailing his arms and legs. Spock wonders if he should restrain him or let him do this. He elects to allow it, and simply keep the muttering, sweaty younger one situated on the center of the bed so he will not hit the wall or any objects and injure himself. Levanek has his teeth pulling on the bandage on his hand. Ripping it off. Spock moves to stop him but the cloth is already on the floor. He checks the wound. It appears to be healing so he lets it be. Levanek shouts out garbled absurdities. He begs for more drugs. Wails. Pleads. It breaks Spock’s heart to listen to this. He does not bother to shush him. Yes, the neighbors are knocking on the walls and pounding on the ceiling and floor. Let them come to the door. Let the younger one vent his frustrations as loud as he wants to.

Gas bursts forth from Levanek’s bowels before he says very clearly: “My God, man. Do you want an acute case on your hands? This patient has immediate postprandial, upper-abdominal distention. Now out of the way. Get out of the way!” Levanek sits up abruptly. “Now! I gotta go...I gotta go....”

“Where do you need to go?”

“The fucking toilet you goddamned stupid son of a bitch or do you want me to shit on the bed? Ohhhhh.” Levanek grabs his abdomen.

After another long stint on the toilet, with shivering and accompanying vomiting, Spock cleans him up for by now the twelfth time and leads him back to the bed. Levanek rolls around moaning out odd medical-sounding words and phrases. He refuses the blanket, but goose bumps appear on his body. He is feverish.

Perhaps the mind meld could help alleviate some of these symptoms. He does not know how it could help--or why he should be able to do this. It could do more harm than good, he does not know what he is doing-- but something in him makes him wish to try. He rubs his hands together and hesitates. After watching Levanek writhe and cry out sharply in pain, he does ultimately try. He touches the points on the younger one’s face. Feels the electrical sensation buzz his mind through to his fingertips. Tries to broadcast soothing thoughts. He wonders if help is even possible in this way.

After the initial electrical charge, there is nothing else of note that occurs. However, the mind meld does seem to help somewhat. Levanek stops his thrashing. The fever breaks. Spock removes his hand from the points and pets the younger one’s hair. Levanek begins to sob. His body shakes with the effort. Spock holds him tight.

"Owww...." Levanek moans out.

"Forgive me," Spock whispers and lets him go. He continues stroking the younger one's hair.

“I’m sorry, Baby, I’m sorry....” Levanek moans out.

“Shhhh. Shhhh.”

Before he passes out, Levanek whispers: “Thank you for looking after me.”

“No need to thank me, Beloved.”

“You know, I may have carried your Katra but I sure as hell could never fill your shoes.”

“My Katra?”

“Uh huh.” Levanek closes his eyes.

*

Spock must return to work this morning. He cannot stay home to look after Levanek, much as he wishes to. Levanek is in a deep slumber. Spock hopes the younger one will at least be able to sleep the day away until he returns in the evening. He walks into the kitchen. Gets himself a cigarette and a glass of ale.

He hears movement behind him. He spins around.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad was it?” Levanek smiles. “Give me a cigarette will ya?”

“Good morning,” Spock replies. He gets another Gitane, lights it for the younger one. The younger one has dark circles under his eyes. He is shaky, pale and much too thin but at least he is coherent and ambulatory.

“Go get ready for work. I’ll fix you a salad for breakfast.”

“It is not necessary. You should be resting.” He pulls out the chair for the younger one. "Sit down."

“No, no, no. I’m fine. I want to stand. What...you really think I should stay in bed all day long?” Levanek takes a long drag on the cigarette, blows out the smoke. “Fuck that. Look at this place, it’s filthy. Stinks in here too. Like barf. Guess what I’ll be up to today.”

"You require rest."

"I'm cleaning this place up. Do you like living in rotting filth?”

“I do not.”

“Alright then. It’ll keep my mind offa things, anyway.” Spock leans over to kiss the younger one but he draws back. “I’ve got barf breath, are you outta your goddamned mind?”

*

Nothing at all has changed. Que’no’na prison is exactly as how he left it. No new intake. No executions scheduled as of yet. He tugs on his uniform.

Inmate 90802EB is pacing back and forth relentlessly. The same as before.

However there are some major differences. 90802EB’s hair is shaved bald. 90802EB’s face and body are now covered in bruises. Punished for an infraction, no doubt.

90802EB is wearing another jumpsuit but has the zipper down, his hand clamped around his penis.

The centurion notices Spock watching 90802EB. He whispers: “Next time 90802EB will be completely sewn into that jumpsuit. Cannot seem to stop ejaculating. Got one of the guards in the eye yesterday when they put the new suit on him. Hence the punishment.”

“Punishment? Ah, the beating, I surmise.”

“That and a few of us got to slide it into his anus. Give that filthy thing a good one. He’s a tight little Human. Granted they’re animals but--”

Spock clears his throat sharply. The centurion says nothing more.

Soon Spock hears heavy breathing. Spock looks over at the monitor, sees the inmate masturbating. Glances over at the centurion.

The centurion has his own organ out, hand clamped around it, working himself to a climax.

Spock says nothing, but watches--eyes darting from the inmate on the screen to the centurion and back again.

*

His midday meal break. He spoons the warmed up ‘Goodfood’ into his mouth. One small slow bite at a time. Sips on his blue ale. He wonders if Levanek is alright. The younger one should be resting but he will not.

And 90802EB....

A tear falls down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away. "I am in control of my emotions," he hisses, but not entirely low enough. It attracts the attention of the guard eating nearby who turns and frowns at him. He raises an eyebrow at the comrade and the other turns back to his Goodfood.

The centurion who was on shift with him earlier sits down across from him. Smiles wide.

“Pardon me, Centurion, I must resume my shift.” Spock picks up his tray and walks away.

*

Those cravings. Those goddamned cravings. He chain smokes cigarette after cigarette and still the cravings remain.

He’s nearly out of water.

After every other cigarette, he darts to the bathroom. Peels off his pants before the diharria can stain them. Sits down on the toilet seat--clutching his stomach.

*

This time Spock is alone in the viewing chamber. As Levanek would say: ‘Bless the Praetor’.

90802EB stumbles closer to the camera. His face fills the screen. His mouth is nearly grotesque as it opens up, forms something, a phrase, of what Spock does not know.

The inmate’s voice squeaks out a language in a monotone: “Help me.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. At this point he must announce on the cells speaker to the inmate not to talk. Then he is required to flip the switch to deliver a shock for punishment. But he neither announces nor delivers the shock. He simply continues to watch in horror as the inmate voices the same phrase over and over: “Help me... Help me... Help me....”

“Help me,” Spock whispers back. He struggles to understand those words. It is gibberish to his ears.

*

"Oh fuck the Praetor!" The floor in the bedroom is covered in puke. Makes him want to barf again just cleaning it up. And the bathroom...uh...

*

"Help me...help me..."

*

Time to tackle that mountain of laundry. He pulls off the thin blanket (that he had stolen from somewhere) and the sheet of their steel framed bed, leaving a stained mattress. Their pillows have no cases on them and they smell awful, but he cannot purchase new pillows. They are an expensive luxury. He is grateful for the fact that the bed is in fact metal framed. No bugs in the bed itself. The mattress is another story. He pauses to glance at a brand new bite on his arm. Funny how bedbugs never seem to bite Spock. Funny how they never seemed to bother him but now they do.

When he stuffs all of this into the basket, he hears a scurry in the corner. He glances up to see a rat blinking up at him. The poor little thing is terrified. He watches it a moment before he feels another stomach ache coming on.

“Son of a bitch.” He slams down the basket on the floor and stomps into the bathroom.

After he’s spent quite a while in there and the ache seems to abate for now, he cleans himself up. Pours water in the tank to flush it. He gets up and notices his reflection in the mirror. There’s dark circles under his eyes. He pulls a long strand of hair back, revealing a pointed ear.

*

“Computer,” Spock whispers, “request info realname and planet of origin... inmate 90802EB true-check 950.”

“Request invalid. 213 420.”

“Computer.” Spock tries again. “Divulge the information. Tru-name and origin of inmate 90802EB.”

“Access denied. Inmate tru-name and origin classified. Security clearance denied.”

He thumbs the toggle switch off just in time for the centurion to pad past.

*

The solitary light illuminates the tiny basement laundry room. He is glad it was already on when he came in. It is dim but better than complete darkness. He holds his laundry basket close to him.  There is trash everywhere on the dirty brick floor, which is covered in numerous mysterious fluids. His bare feet stick to the floor when he walks. He makes a mental note to wash his feet as soon as he goes back up. There’s a metal boiler against one wall that looks as if it belongs in a crematorium.

He sets the paper bag of garbage he clutches in his other arm down on the floor. The bin is already overflowing one corner. It's apparent the concierge never does his fucking job.

On the far wall, there appears to be a passageway, the entry to which is blocked with metal bars running from floor to the low ceiling. Against the wall closest to him is a lone, battered washing machine of which he desperately hopes will operate. The smell in here is putrid and moldy. He does not set down the laundry basket. Better if it doesn’t touch anything. Instead he immediately transfers the dirty laundry into the machine. He entertains the thought of there being a dead body hidden someplace. Maybe in that blocked off passageway. A rat scurries past goes through the bars. He digs into his pocket, searching for that coin he’d brought to put into the machine.

So that the laundry doesn’t get stolen he has to stand here for the half hour and babysit it. He fingers the sharp blade of butcher knife in his pocket.

Suddenly the light goes out. Click. Pitch black. The lack of sound combined with the darkness, makes him feel as if he is now in a tomb. The bulb must have burnt out or more likely the meter needs a coin. Of all times to do this. His heart pounds in his ears.

He hisses out a curse. He has nothing to help illuminate the way to the stairs. He shuffles over. Inching his way. He hears the squeal of the rats. Hoping not to get bit.

Suddenly the bulb turns back on. The concierge, a short stout man, now stands under it with a filthy, stained hand wrapped around the pull chain, other hand resting on his pronounced belly.

Levanek cannot help but shudder as he remembers that that creep’s cock is just as nasty as those hands. The memory turns his stomach. How did that disgusting pig manage to sneak in behind him?

The concierge gives an oily smile as he pushes back a greasy lock of black hair behind his pointed ears.  “Oh,” he says with a casual air. “Fancy seeing you here. Normally it’s your grandfather.”

“Ah, well, today it’s on me.”

“I see that.” The concierge grins. “I wasn’t even aware that anyone was down here. I came back down to turn this off. Don’t want to waste precious electricity.”

Impossible for the concierge to not have seen him here in front of the washer but he says nothing, simply moves out of the way, past the man, nodding at him, trying not to betray his unease.

“Just put a load in,” Levanek explains much too upbeat.

The concierge draws closer, too damned close.  “Put a load in?” The concierge smirks at this. “I’d like to put a load in, myself.”

“Well, mine will be done in a half hour.”

“Yes. I notice you...uh...haven’t been coming around my office lately. You uh...went straight up to the landlord to pay your rent.”

“You were on vacation.” Levanek inches more out of the concierge’s way but still the concierge creeps ever more uncomfortably close.

The concierge laughs, showing off several missing teeth. “Vacation? Oh... is that what they called it. I’ve been...you know...hoping you’d be late with the rent again.”

The concierge repeats: “I was...uh...hoping you’d be late with the rent again.”

“I know. I heard you the first time. Is there something you want?”

“Y’know I’d love to uh...have a three way with you and your grandfather, why not send him along with you next time you’re late with the rent?” The concierge laughs. He turns and stomps back up the stairs.

“Don’t talk about my grandfather like that, unless you want to lose the rest of your teeth,” Levanek calls after him but the comment is met by more creepy giggles.

Just a bit more time and he can get this laundry out of the washer. He feels another stomach ache coming on.

Next time he’s definitely washing everything in the kitchen sink.

*

Spock stands in the long line at the distribution center. He must in order to collect his allotted two cans of ‘Goodfood’, his bottle of blue Ale, the carton of Gitanes and loaf of ‘bread’ and perhaps margarine. He’s gone too long on the fresh bazaar food. As delicious as the real food is, this is the official government food they are supposed to eat. He must pick up the food, otherwise the government might get suspicious. He feels impatience today in this long line--he must get home to Levanek.

He muses over this and over the phrase: ‘Help me.’ as he waits.

A stranger in front of him suddenly repeats back: “Help me?”

“Pardon me, Comrade?”

“You said something...‘help me’, it sounded like.”

“Forgive me, Comrade, I said nothing, perhaps someone else.”

“No, I know what you said.”

Spock sighs, takes a chance and asks: “Do you know what that means?”

“It’s one of the languages that those filthy Earth people used to speak. I’m glad that horrible planet is gone.”

“Is it ethical, Comrade, for the Romulan Empire to have caused a world’s total annihilation?” Spock dares to ask.

“Earth attacked us. Didn’t you see at the Rally?”

“Of course, Comrade,” Spock says quickly.

“Horrible planet.”

“Agreed, Comrade,” Spock says. “You say you recognize the language?”

“It’s...uh... called ‘English’. Or something like that. I think.”

“What does the phrase mean?”

“Ri’hansu is our official language. An efficient, beautiful language. Why would we want to speak anything else?” Before Spock can reply, the comrade suddenly lowers his voice to a whisper. “I know what it means. I could tell you...but...I....”

“Ah.” Spock fishes in his pocket for a credit note and slips it into the other’s hand, careful for them not to be detected by the monitor at the head of the line.

The comrade says out of the side of his mouth: “It means ’thai-vlek’ you know! ‘Help!’ They’re looking for assistance! Where did you hear that from?”

“The...” Spock pauses, and glances off at the adjacent brick wall. Pasted on it is an advertisement that says: ‘Goodfood is good food for you.’ A young girl is smiling, holding up the can and spoon, ready to shovel the contents in her mouth. “...tele-screen.”

The stranger cocks a suspicious eye at him. “They wouldn’t put English on the tele-screen--“

“I must thank you, Comrade. I was only curious.” He does not ask how the stranger knows the phrase himself, but can only hope he was accurate.


	9. Chapter 9

Spock immediately notices a distinct change when he enters the apartment in the evening. 

Their abode smells...pleasant. Clean. Well, as clean as it can be. The kitchen floor is swept and mopped. There is the welcoming scent of real food cooking in a pot on the spotless stove. He removes his cap and places it on the nail.

Levanek is rushing to and fro clad in an apron and...nothing else. 

Spock’s eyes fall on the curve of the other’s bare derriere. He raises an eyebrow. “Good evening."

“Hello.” Levanek smiles.

“How is your condition?”

“My condition? I’m fine.” Levanek smiles. There is a sparkle in his eyes that has never been there before. “I cleaned up around here,” he says with pride. “Did the washing.”

“I see that. Why are you only wearing an apron? Where did you get it?”

“Found it in the pile. My clothes got soiled.”

“Ah.”

“Levanek spins around, showing off his body. The apron flies up, exposes his testicles for a moment. “Like what you see?”

“I wish you would eat more,” Spock says. “You are much too thin.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fatten up. I’ll wash your uniform tomorrow. The other stuff is drying on the line.”

“Shall I bring it in?” Spock puts down the bag on the kitchen table, opens the window. As he does so, he notices how fragile it is, the glass shakes. How did Levanek manage to get this open? Once the sash is far enough up, he pauses a moment, glancing out at the dark sky and Romulus, the rust colored moon. 

“Gonna hang out the window all evening?”

Spock breaks out of his reverie, tugs on the line so that the clothing is pulled in. “The laundry is still damp.”

Levanek feels it for himself. “Not surprising, since it never warms up around here. Ah, good enough. Better than it was before. Don’t want it to get stolen.”

“Indeed.”

“Shut the window, would you? Smog’s getting in.” 

Spock carefully shuts the window then hangs up the laundry in the bathroom, which was also scrubbed as clean as it could get. He enters the bedroom. The piles of rotting smelly laundry are gone. “You have been busy today,” he calls out. 

“I told you. Come get your supper.”

As Spock sits at the kitchen table, Levanek is digging into the bag. He pulls out both cans, studies them. “Goodfood, is good food for you.” He snorts and shakes his head. “My ass.” He throws the two cans into the cubbord, slams it shut. He pulls out the plain wrap blue ale, opens it up and pours a measure into two glasses. “Ever wonder what’s really in this ale?”

“Negative.”

“It’s because you’re addicted.”

The evening meal is vegetable stew and bread with real butter. They eat in silence, then afterwards smoke a cigarette.

Spock brings his empty plate to the sink and attempts to wash the dishes. 

“No, Spock, I’ll do them, you relax.” 

“I have no need to relax. I shall assist you. Doing the washing up is a novelty I would prefer in indulge in.”

“Fine, suit yourself. How about you wash and I dry.” He holds up a fresh dish towel and grins like a mad man. “We are living like kings again.”

“And tomorrow we pay for it, like whores.”

Levanek smirks. “Shhhh.” He dips a hand into the soapy water and flicks it over at Spock. 

*

Spock walks past the bathroom wearing his robe. 

Levanek is lounging in the tub. He lolls his head over at Spock. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Spock enters, seats himself on the edge of the toilet seat. 

“It’s nice and warm in here.”

“Yes.” At least the bathroom is now spotless. Spock finds a new tube of shampoo. Leans over. “Sit up, Beloved.”

Levanek does so. Spock washes the younger one’s hair. Levanek then lays down in the water to rinse it off. When he emerges, he tugs on Spock’s robe. “Come join me.”

“I will have a bath when you are finished.”

“Share it with me. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

“Barely.”

“Come on.”

Spock sighs a moment, then removes his robe. He’s nude. He puts the robe carefully on the nail. Levanek holds out a hand and holds onto him as he clambers in. “This a tight fit,” he notes. He sees how much the water level has gone up.

“We’re fine.” Levanek chuckles. “So we get a little bit on the floor.” They adjust themselves so that Spock’s back is resting against the tub. Levanek lays against his chest. Spock slides his arms around the younger one and they stay as they are for long moments.

Levanek tilts his head back. “Kiss me.”

“I thought you did not enjoy kissing.”

“I enjoy it.” Levanek’s hand cups the back of Spock’s neck, meets his lips. It soon moves into a passionate, bruising, deep kiss. Spock does not remember ever kissing anyone like this, ever. He does what feels natural. Introducing his tongue, wondering if Levanek will be repelled by this, but no Levanek accepts his tongue into his mouth.

Spock’s hand creeps down the smooth body, then further down to his genitals submerged in the water. He finds Levanek’s organ. It is erect. 

“Hmmmm,” Levanek moans into his mouth.

Spock keeps his hand clamped unmoving around the younger one’s penis--reveling in the other’s tumescence. The buzzing in the organ, until Levanek lifts his hips and begins thrusting into his hand. He begins stroking the other. His own penis is now poking the other in the backside. He wishes to be inside of him but he will not, Levanek is not fully recovered from his ordeal.

Levanek pulls his mouth away from Spock’s to pant out: “I’m not gonna last long, if you keep that up.”

Spock sucks on the other’s pointed ear and keeps it up. The younger one mumbles incoherently, as Spock strokes faster, his hand moving up in down in the water. Levanek’s knuckles clamp onto the sides of the tub. Spock’s organ jumps at the sound of the other’s little cries and moans. 

Levanek pants and emits a small choking sound. His body siezes up as he spurts semen into the bathwater. 

Spock holds onto him as he comes down. After long moments, Levanek turns slightly his grasp and kisses him again. His hand dips into the water and finds Spock’s hard penis. He toys with it, gripping it for a moment then stops. “Not here," Levanek suggests. "Lets go to bed.” He clambers out of the tub. 

Spock follows. His penis sticks out in front of him. Levanek playfully bats at it. They’re both dripping wet and they dry off with clean smelling bath towels.

Levanek grabs his hand and leads him out.

*

He’s licking a wet stripe along the underside of Spock’s cock. Spock breathes heavily. Spock never moans out loud but he knows the old man likes this. There’s lust in those dark eyes. He takes his mouth away. Spock watches him to see what he’s up to next. He straddles Spock. Spock swallows. Levanek leans down to the floor, reaching towards the jar of coconut oil. 

Spock grabs onto Levanek’s hips to stop him. “No. Don’t.”

“Why not?” Levanek asks.

“I do not wish to cause you any pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s alright, Baby, it’s alright.”

Levanek dips two fingers in the jar, coats them with the oil. He lubes Spock’s cock. He sits up a moment, moving the blunt head to his entrance. He pushes down until the head slips inside him. It does sting for a moment--he tears up a little and hisses at that. Spock groans softly at the initial penetration. His eyes suddenly widen with concern at Levanek. 

Levanek he nods that it’s alright. He pushes harder, seats himself down on Spock’s lap, the cock now sheathed completely inside, all the way in. Spock lets out a soft sigh, grabs hold of Levanek’s ass cheeks. 

Levanek moves his hips around in circles. Spock tilts his head back.

He’s gotten hard again and he jacks it off slowly, watching Spock. He keeps up the circles until Spock gasps softly, hands clamp onto his hips. He feels hot come shoot deep into his rectum.

Spock pants. Levanek stops stroking his own cock and sits there. Spock is still inside of him. He just wants to watch his lover. He’s beautiful in the throes.

* 

They relax together in bed, sharing a cigarette, when suddenly they feel the unmistakable throb, the telltale ear popping buzz flowing through their bodies, shaking the building. It is the blimp. The rally blimp. The schoolgirl giggles and summons on it’s bright cackly screen. Levanek leans over to the window, peers through the hole in the curtain. “Oh no.”

The building shakes with the sound of slamming doors in the adjacent units, next door, underneath them and above. Tenants are dutably filling out into the hallways, heading downstairs. 

Levanek tilts his head back and groans. “Not now.”

Spock gets out of bed. Semen drips from his now flaccid penis, he holds his hand under his organ. “Hurry, Beloved. Get washed up and dressed.” He moves quick as he can to the bathroom, turns on the water, soaps up and rinses off. He shuts off the water and dries himself.

Shortly after, Levanek enters. Sits down on the toilet. Gets a wad of toilet paper. Wipes himself clean. “What would they really do if we didn’t show up?” 

“The government would shortly arrive to knock on our door.”

“Really? Do you think they would?”

“Affirmative. Or at least we will lose our allotment of ‘Goodfood’.”

“Fuck the ‘Goodfood’.” 

“We need the ‘Goodfood’.” Spock goes to the laundry basket, finds something suitable. It could be his or Levanek’s, he does not know which. He pulls on the still damp clothing, notices the other simply standing there in what appears to be pure defiance. “Hurry.” 

“We should stay in.”

“Shhhh,” Spock says.

“What? I’m whispering. Seriously, we should stay in, see what happens. I could go for another round of fucking.”

“We cannot stay in,” Spock hisses. 

*

Rallygirl shows a film on the Vulcan. The Vulcan is an inhabitant of the world T’Khasi. How the Vulcan animal looks similar to the Romulan but the Romulan is far, far more advanced. 

There is a new image: The world of T’Khasi where the Vulcan resides, implodes upon itself. 

Cheers erupt in the theatre.

This time, Spock and Levanek stare in shock. 

*

“What did T’Khasi ever do to Prema? They did nothing to us. There’s gotta be billions of inhabitants of that planet. Innocent people. All dead. Did they attack us?”

That book stated that Vulcans were a peaceful species. They did not harm another. The Vulcan would not willingly consume meat because it would involve the murder of an animal. The Vulcan followed the concept of Cthia, they controlled all emotions, they-- “T’Khasi did not attack us. I know for certain.”

“Then why...?” Levanek cannot contain himself. He begins to weep.

“Levanek, when we are at Rally we must show the appropriate response. We risk arrest.”

“Happy? We’re in private now. We can be honest.” Levanek eyes him. “You don’t seem very upset about it at all, Spock. You don’t fucking care do you.”

He does care very much so, in fact it tears out his guts to think about it, but it seems disrespectful to outwardly show his feelings at T’Khasi’s destruction. ‘I am in control of my emotions.’ He grieves but internally. 

Levanek takes the empty water bottle and pitches it, it shatters when it hits the kitchen wall. “I’ll murder the fucking Praetor.”

Spock catches his wrist. “Shhhh!”

Levanek shakes his hand away. “Fuck you! Go to fucking work. Work at your fucking prison you fucking asshole. Leave me the fuck alone.”

*

He rides the bus to work in a daze. His face is immobile. He gets shoved around for his trouble.

*

Levanek stares at the wall in the kitchen. Bites on his fingernails. “What’s happening?” he says softly. “Why?”

*

“Computer, Tru-name inmate 90802EB.”

“Access denied. Security clearance.”

He opens up the wallet. He had grabbed it on his way out of his apartment. He slides out the stolen ID card. He swipes it on the reader. Suddenly the computer chirps and beings spewing out strings of data such as the inmate’s name, his real name. 

Fascinating.

*

They sit with their tins of ‘Goodfood’ and their blue ale at the kitchen table--Levanek doesn’t eat just glares at it-- when Spock suddenly says: “James T. Kirk.”

“Huh?”

“The name of the inmate.” Spock holds up the stolen ID card and whispers: “Sometimes you are a rather useful partner in crime, my Beloved.”

“You took that guy’s ID to work?” Levanek licks his lips. “To the prison? Oh my, Spock. I didn’t think you had it in you. Criminal behavior.”

Spock nods.

“What did you find out?”

“He is definitely a Human. Earth born.”

“Earth born. Like me?”

“Apparently so.”

“What is he in for?”

“That...I could not find out. There was no notation on any crime. I have an nagging suspicion that he is a political prisoner. At any rate he is mentally unstable. However, he was cognizant enough to give me a plea for help, in English. ”

Levanek lowers his spoon. “He’s done nothing wrong--they would note his crime on his file if he had. Political prisoner? He’s not a criminal. The government is holding him for no good reason.”

“There is no proof he is a political prisoner. That is merely my suspicion. Nothing can be done about his fate.”

“We can do something. Why are you so complacent, Old man? Huh?” Levanek throws the barely consumed can of ‘Goodfood’ against the wall. “You’re just as bad as everybody else on this planet.”

At the noise of pounding from the neighbor, Spock catches Levanek’s wrist. “Stop it. I am as horrified as you are.”

Levanek shakes his hand free. “We have to get him out of there.”

“Get him out?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know.” Levanek scrunches up his face. “I don’t know. Hide him, somehow. I can’t take this anymore. We have to do something.”

“Hide him? How? In here? That would be foolhardy. We would be caught.”

Levanek suddenly gets up, goes over to the front door, gets on his coat moves swiftly over to the kitchen drawer, puts an object up his sleeve but Spock cannot see from his vantage point what it is.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t eat that ‘Goodfood’ shit. I feel like I’m poisoned from it.”

“We have no more money until I receive my pay.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Spock moves to stand in his way. “Leonard....”

Levanek looks up sharply.

“Forgive me. Levanek.” He knows how Levanek will procure the money. “Do not do this. Do not rob anyone. Do not prostitute yourself. ‘Goodfood’ is good enough.”

“Just listen to your fucking self, spouting that shit. I’m not going to do anything. Just going for a walk. Alright? Everything will be fine.” He slams the front door.

Spock goes to the cupboard, finds a glass and pours himself a measure of blue ale. 

*

He knew this day was coming and he knows doing this sober is going to be a struggle but they need the money desperately. All he has to do is suck a few cocks, maybe bottom a couple of times and bang there is enough for food. Maybe he should suck fifty cocks, and bottom ten times. Enough to keep the gas on, eat like kings again for a week or two. 

In the tawdry red light district where there is plenty of foot traffic, he stands off to the side in one of the alleys in the shadows. When a man gets a little close--lingers a look on him to make certain he’s cruising--he hisses: “How about I suck your cock?”

“How much?”

“Ten credits.”

“Ten? How about five.”

He scowls. “Alright, five.”

The man strikes him as familiar--he’s seen him before someplace. He leads the man to a boarded up doorway in the shadows, gets those five credits, stuffs them into his pocket. He kneels down, opens up the man’s pants. He thumbs out the thick dick. As soon as he puts it in his mouth, he has to keep himself from retching. The man’s cock smells fine, looks disease free to his eyes, everything seems okay, but he still can’t do this. Prostituting himself. But he does it anyway. It takes a few minutes but finally the guy comes in his mouth, he spits the out the glob of semen onto the sidewalk.

“That was the worst blow job I’ve ever had.” The man does up his pants. “Not even worth the five credits.”

Levanek wipes his face. “Fuck you.” He gets up. 

The man shrugs, thanks him and walks off. After a moment, Levanek follows him. Maybe he’ll corner the guy and mug him. That would be a fantastic idea. But this also makes him want to vomit--he’s not a thug but he is hungry.

The man walks with a brisk pace but Levanek still follows. Keeps following to the other side of town. 

The man finally stops in front of a door, has a key out, is engrossed fully in opening up the padlock. Levanek spins him bodily around. “Give me your wallet.” He pulls out a knife he’d brought along for protection, holds it up to the man’s face. “Give it to me.” He still feels a sense that he knows this man, the features seem familiar but he can’t place it and--

“No,” the man says. “If this is about that blow job crack--look I’m sorry.” 

“Give me your wallet or else I’ll kill you,” Levanek threatens, but he knows deep in his heart he cannot and he hopes the man doesn’t sense it but he has a feeling the guy does.

“Wait,” the man says.

“For what?”

“How instead of robbing me, I give you a job?”

Levanek snorts. “A what?”

“A job. Why don’t you come inside with me?”

So he can be ambushed and killed by this guy’s friends. “Fuck no.”

“Come on, nothing will happen to you.” The man suddenly pulls out his wallet. “Look here. I’ll give you whatever you want. But I can give a job and you can earn a living so that you don’t have to do this any longer.” The man pulls out twenty credits. “Here. Take it.”

Levanek does. He turns to go.

“I’m serious about that job,” the man says. “We need somebody like you.”

Levanek turns back around. “What kind of job?”

“Come inside and I’ll tell you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Levanek says. 

“What’s your name?”

Levanek sneers. “Fuck you.”

The man holds the door open. “Come on. I’ll tell you more...inside.”


	10. Chapter 10

The man continues to hold open the door. “Come upstairs.”

Levanek freezes. He should just run--this guy is fixing to rape him, kill him--better that he takes off with the twenty dollars. But something about this man, he cannot figure out what it is, keeps his feet cemented to the ground.

“I promise, nothing bad will happen to you,” the man says. “Come on. Not a very trusting soul, are you. Well. Under the circumstances I would tend to agree.”

Levanek looks into those eyes, they’re dark, kindly. There’s a genuine smile on the face. Now that he thinks about it this guy looks like the medical tech at the hospital. The one in the stained scrubs that treated Spock. “You’re a--”

The man suddenly grabs him, shoves him through the open door and shuts it, locking them in. They’re enclosed in this tiny foyer. Face to face. Levanek pulls his knife out again. 

The man holds up his hands. “Wait. Wait. Upstairs. Follow me, alright? If you can only trust one person in this god forsaken planet, you can trust me.” He moves past Levanek and up the stairs. “Come on.” 

Levanek still has his knife at the ready as he follows. They reach the top. There’s a cupboard. The man pushes the cupboard aside. Behind that is another door. 

Levanek glances around. The deja vu hits him again. Inside is a clean, sterile, computerized medical clinic. Medical instruments rest gleaming on trays. He notes plenty of drugs secured in a case along one wall. It is unlike any hospital he has ever seen on Prema. More like...sickbay--

Levanek slides his knife back into his pocket. “This place is--”

“Illegal,” the man says. After a pause, he continues: “No this is not a government run establishment. I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Yeah, they’re aren’t too many of us around. I remember you from the hospital--your grandfather, right? Concussion. How is he doing? The Laudanum--Well, I hope you threw it down the drain.”

Oh shit! This is a trap! Levanek turns around to run.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t hurt him. All of that was just to get you out of that hospital.”

Levanek spins back around. “Why?”

The man shakes his head. “Your name’s Levanek, right?”

Levanek shrugs.

“My name is M’Benek,” the man says. “Dr. M’Benek.”

“M’Benga?”

“No, M’Benek." He waves Levanek in further. “Want the job?”

Levanek looks around the room once again--barely believing his eyes, something so beautiful and completely hidden behind two doors and a cupboard. “I’m not sucking your dick, if that’s what you want.”

“No, thank you. I need some help. Real help. Right now, you can act as an orderly, keeping the place clean, mopped--until I teach you a few medical procedures--then you could be my nurse--nurses are hard to come by, hard to trust anyone. You seem to have medical knowledge--at least you seemed to when I saw you at the hospital.”

“I don’t know anything. Doctor’s are forbidden.” 

“I know they are. I said you can trust me. I’m not from the government. Okay? Listen I can pay you two hundred credits a month.”

Levanek huffs in a breath, that’s almost as much as Spock makes. He’ll probably regret this somehow--surely they’ll get arrested one of these days, but he could use that money.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

*

Spock is about to leave for work--when Levanek hurries through the front door with a bag of groceries. He mumbles: “Sorry...good morning.” 

Ah, just as he surmised, selling his emaciated body for a pittance is what the younger one has been up to all night. 

Levanek leans over to kiss Spock but Spock draws back.

“Suit yourself.” Levanek sets down the bag on the table. 

“I will be home late.” Spock places his guard’s cap upon his head. “I shall stop off at the distribution center on my way home.”

“Don’t be too long. I’ll have a nice supper waiting for you. I should be home in time to fix it.”

“I refuse to eat what you have brought.”

“Why?” Levanek comes over to stand in front of him. “You’re not eating that ‘Goodfood’ it’s poison--you’re poisoning yourself--and you’re not drinking that ‘blue ale’ shit anymore--you’re addicted and it’s poisoning you. Same with those fucking cigarettes. No more, Spock!”

“I shall do what I wish.”

“No. Tonight I’m fixing us a healthy dinner. Those cans are going in the garbage. No more ‘Goodfood‘ for us.”

Spock turns away from him in disgust. He picks up his coat, shrugs it on. He opens the front door, shutting it behind him. 

\---

“Spock,” Levanek whispers in his wake. “I got a job.”

*

Spock has been at his station two point seven five hours when he gets the news: 90802EB is slated for execution. 

“What is his crime?”

But that information is classified.

*

In the mess hall the centurion sits down across from him. 

Spock does not glance up from his tin of ‘Goodfood’ to acknowledge his presence. 

“Hear the...uh...news?” There is a bit too much excitement in the centurion’s tone. “I can’t wait. Been awhile since we’ve had an execution. Can’t believe I get paid to work here.”

Spock keeps eating his ‘Goodfood’, but his hand tightens minutely on the spoon.

 

*

Levanek is not home when Spock returns to their abode. No matter. He removes his cap. Hangs it carefully on the hook. He sets the bag down on the table. He digs out the ‘Goodfood’ and bread and margarine and the blue ale and Gitanes. With the can opener he opens up the tin. Fetches a spoon. Pours himself a measure of the ‘blue ale’. He sits down to consume it.

Suddenly the front door bursts open. “You bastard! I told you I’d fix you supper.”

Spock says nothing but continues to eat. 

Levanek removes his coat and begins pulling off his trousers and shirt. Underneath his clothing he is wearing what appear to be medical scrubs. Most likey stolen from one of his tricks.

As Spock watches, it hits him. Medical scrubs are what Levanek is supposed to be wearing. What he is meant to wear--

“Spock, Spock, Spock....”

Spock shakes it off and glances into Levanek’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“I am fine.”

“Look, I’m gonna need you to cut my hair. To an acceptable length.” He sets his bag on the table. “I bought a sharper razor and some halfway decent scissors and some shaving cream.” 

Spock spoons another amount of ‘Goodfood’ into his mouth. “I see.”

Levanek snatches the tin away from him. “Gimme that. Dammit. Listen to me. I got a job, Spock. Now we can afford rent AND decent food. On a regular basis!”

“A job? At the hospital? How did you manage--”

“Sort of...” Levanek gulps. “There’s this...medical clinic...a secret one, on the other side of town. The medicine is far more advanced that is available through the government hospitals.”

Levanek is a fool. “What if the facility is raided? You would be arrested.”

“There is that danger, but...” Levanek’s eyes are bright. “The risk is worth it. Spock, the patients they’re....actually treated and healed like people and given the right drugs and diagnoses and dignity. You should see the place. It’s magnificent. Dr. M’Benek--”

“M’Benga?” Spock wonders.

Levanek starts at this. Tilts his head. “That’s what I thought too.” He chuckles a moment. “Isn’t that interesting... No...this guy is the med tech you had at the hospital. Only he’s not a med tech, he’s really a doctor.”

“Doctors are forbidden.”

“I know. That’s why this place is so secret. Dr. M’Benek examined me--”

“Examined you? He will have discovered that you are a Human.”

“He confirmed it, yes.” Levanek smiles. “It’s okay. He won’t turn me in. Even diagnosed Syphilis--”

“Syphilis, again?”

“Well, the disease was discovered to be latent. Which means when I was originally infected, it wasn’t cured. The Mercury treatment wasn’t effective. Spock you’re gonna have to come in and get tested--”

“I have no symptoms.”

“Doesn’t matter. Obviously Humans and Romulans can pass each other diseases. You might still have contracted it. He gave me antibiotics and now it’s completely cured this time! Don’t worry, Spock. Antibiotics don’t have all the nasty side effects that mercury has!”

“How do you know your Syphilis is cured this time?”

“Because he has this device--this medical scanner that shows it. Shows a picture of the inside of your body. It can even test your blood. Shows your vitals, heart rate. Everything.” The way Levanek punches this every word enunciated, reminds him of--

“I see.”

“You need to get your head checked, to see if your concussion is alright.”

Spock nods.

*

Spock sucks and bites on Levanek’s neck. "Come to bed, Beloved." 

“Spock,” Levanek says, pulling away from him. “I told M’Benek we’d come to the clinic tonight, so he can examine you.”

“Wait till tomorrow, Beloved. Then I shall go.”

“No, I told him tonight. Tonight....” He giggles when Spock bites down hard on his neck. “Don’t do that, Spock.”

“Come to bed.”

*

He’s on his back, legs resting on Spock’s shoulders. Spock is on top of him, thrusting into him. 

“Oh shit, Spock, I’m gonna come.” A ribbon of semen quirts across his belly. "Ohhhh."

Spock does too at the same time, shooting his semen deep into him. 

After a moment, Spock pulls out and lays next to him, panting. “We have not done it like that in...I cannot remember the last time.”

Levanek gasps out. “Me neither. Oh, shit.”

“Perhaps we should not attempt that position again. I am an old man.”

“You don’t fuck like an old man. That’s for sure.”

Spock reaches down on the floor, rights up the jar of coconut oil. He picks up the blanket that got knocked off. Reaches down to the floor again, finds the pack of Gitanes. He lights a cigarette for himself and one for Levanek. 

“I thought we weren’t gonna do this anymore?” Levanek takes the cigarette. They lay there, smoking for long moments. Then he says: “I told M’Benek about James Kirk.”

Spock immediate sits up.

“What? What is it, Spock?”

“You are mad. I cannot believe you did that.”

“What?”

“We are not allowed to speak the inmate’s real name. If the government finds out, surely we shall be arrested. We do not know this M’Benek. We do not know if we can trust him.”

“You fucking numskull, I told you. We can trust M’Benek.” Levanek gets out of bed. “Come on, Old Man, get up. We’re going over there, right now.”

“Hmmm,” Spock says, continuing to smoke. 

“Would you fucking quit that shit?” Levanek comes over and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. He stubs it out on the wall. “Goddammit, you fucking asshole. Get your fucking ass up and get some clothes on.” He stomps off to the bathroom then moments later returns to the laundry basket to find something to wear.

“James Kirk is slated for execution,” Spock whispers. “I found out today.”

Levanek comes back and halts in front of him. Open mouthed.


	11. Chapter 11

“Well, the good news is your concussion is fine.” Dr. M’Benek says, his eyes glancing up at the monitor. “The bad news is it looks like you have contracted Syphilis, Spock.”

“Not surprising,” Spock replies, as he lays on the bio bed. “If Levanek was inflicted with it, the odds are high I would have the disease as well.”

“It is sexually transmitted.”

“I know.”

Ah.” M’Benek nods his understanding and says no more about it. “I will have this nasty bacterium eradicated soon enough.”

Spock casts a glance over to Levanek--they’ve just admitted something else to this supposed ‘doctor’ that they do not know very well. Something which they could be arrested for--they are sexually involved. Levanek smiles back, encouragingly. 

“Amazing. The differences are so minute but still detectable,” M’Benek says. “Along with your Human half--”

“What?” Levanek asks. 

“Spock,” M’Benek says, “you are half Vulcan, Half human. Are you aware of that?”

“I had my suspicions regarding myself being a Vulcan. However a Human half...no I was not aware.”

Spock and Levanek exchange another glance. 

“You’re not Romulan,” Levanek says. “You’re Vulcan and Human? Both of your home worlds are gone....” He halts and gulps.

The exam over with, M’Benek gets an object from the cupboard. ”This is a hypospray.” It hisses as it’s pressed into Spock’s shoulder. The sound of it--sickbay, Dr. McCoy...Jim...James T. Kirk...He gasps.

“What is it, Spock?” Levanek asks. “That shouldn’t hurt.”

“James T. Kirk.”

“The inmate,” Levanek says. 

Dr. M’Benek helps Spock off of the biobed. “I understand that he is in prison?”

“Affirmative. He is an innocent Human, Earth born, political prisoner, slated for execution. I have been attempting to think up a plan to--” Spock halts, he is foolish to speak this in front of the doctor--who for all Levanek’s protestations could be a government spy. “Never mind. I shall be going home now.”

Dr. M’Benek raises a hand to stop him. “I am a Human as well. My blood is red, my heart is here in my chest.”

“You?”

“Yes.” M’Benek touches his own pointed ear. “With minor cosmetic surgical differences--and no idea how I arrived on Prema, my long term memories are gone--erased somehow. I notice the same has been done to you, Levanek.”

Levanek reaches up to touch the tip of his own pointed ear. “How many of us are there, secretly on Prema?”

Suddenly, there is the rumble of the dirigible. They feel it low in their chests. 

“The Rally blimp,” Levanek says.

“We must go to the Rally,” Spock says.

“I’m not going,” M’Benek tells them. 

“Not going?”

“Nope.” Dr. M’Benek has a defiant air about him. “Haven’t the last three times.”

“Fascinating.”

“Spock,” Levanek says. “Do the guards on the night shift attend the Rally?”

“Most of them do. The remaining watch on tele-screens.”

“How many?”

“One or two remain behind on skeleton duty.”

“This would be a perfect time to spring him out,” M’Benek says. 

“Who?” 

“Who do you think, Old Man?” Levanek says, rolling his eyes. “James Kirk--we could go get him. Get him out of that prison.”

Spock frantically shakes his head ‘negative’. “My ID will not work in there outside of my shift. It is impossible. We must attend the Rally.”

“Why, Spock? Why should we?” Levanek says. “So we can hear more propaganda? Hear more horrible news, more destruction of innocent planets, masquerading as the best thing ever?”

“Don’t go to the Rally, Spock,” M’Benek says. “Go get James Kirk instead, you could hide him here. I’d be happy to look after him.”

“Hide him here?”

“Yes.” 

“I cannot involve you in this, Doctor.”

“I’m already involved, Spock.”

“Spock,” Levanek says. “That government ID, we could use that to get in there. Come on, Spock.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“I cannot break the rules. I cannot risk arrest. We must attend the Rally. I am a prison officer, I must follow the rules.”

“We don’t need to go, Spock. Let's get him.”

“I cannot take James Kirk out of confignment, even if he is my--” Spock halts.

“Even if he is your what?” Levanek demands. “What, Spock. What is he? A lover? Did you know him?”

“I do not know. I feel as if I must know him, but I do not.”

“Whoever he really is, they’re gonna kill him, you keep procrastinating and wanting to follow the rules, you’re gonna lose him for good.”

Spock puts on his coat. “Levanek, come we must attend the Rally. Excuse me, Doctor.”

“Spock, Spock! No. No. No.”

“Come, Levanek. We must hurry.” 

Levanek is at Spock’s heels frantically trying to hold him back. “Spock....”

“Wait. Before you go, here, take this.” Dr. M'Benek hands Levanek a black leather-like, zipped up bag. “If you reconsider, Spock. Bring James Kirk here immediately, before the Rally is over with. I’ll be here all night, waiting.”

“Good evening, Comrade,” Spock says. 

Dr. M’Benek lowers his eyes. “Good evening, Comrade.”

*

The vibrations of the blimp hovering nearby buzz through their skin and entrails to their bones. Others are in the streets heading towards the Rallyhaus. “ _Come to the Rally_ ,” the girl on the screen says, giggling. “ _Come to the rally. Come to the rally. Come to the rally. Come to the rally_.” 

Spock hurries along. Levanek jogs obediently along side of him. Levanek knows not to argue with him about this in public. Knows what to do to survive. 

Their apartment is on the way there. In fact they travel down the very street their building is situated on. Their building looms close, closer, closer. 

Spock reaches their building. Then without preamble he suddenly turns, veers off, slides into the building foyer. Slips into the main door. The main door has not been locked yet. Levanek is right behind him, glancing over at him, a mixture of questioning and a smirk. 

Without a word, Spock heads up the creaky stairs. Levanek is on his heels. They happen to pass by the second floor tenant along the way. 

“Comrades,” says the tenant. “Did you not hear the call for the Rally?”

“I hear it, Comrade,” Spock tells him.

“Then why don’t you go?”

“We have stopped in momentarily.”

“Don’t be too late, Comrades,” the tenant replies. 

Levanek suddenly doubles over, clutching his stomach. “Oh, we must hurry, Grandfather, I’m going to be sick!” 

“My grandson,” Spock explains to the tenant, “has fallen seriously ill--but soon we will be on our way to the Rally. Do not be concerned.”

“I am concerned.”

“Do not be. Thank you, Comrade for your concern.”

“Laudanum will help him,” the tenant says.

“Yes, thank you, Comrade,” Spock replies. 

“I shall see you there, then,” the tenant says. 

Spock and Levanek hurry up the stairs, leaving the tenant in their wake.

They enter their unit. Spock goes into the bedroom and quickly gets dressed in his prison uniform. He searches for and finds the stolen governmental ID card. “You go to the Rally,” Spock tells Levanek. “I will leave James Kirk with Dr. M’Benek. I will meet you at home.”

“You can’t go to that prison alone.”

“I must. It is too dangerous for both of us.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Levanek.”

“Let me go with you.”

“Go to the Rally, Levanek. I shall meet you, later.”

“No, Spock. I’m going with you and that’s final.”

Spock looks into Levanek’s eyes--there is desperation in them. He sighs. “Alright.”

Levanek dives into the kitchen drawer, grabs the scissors. “Here, cut my hair. Short enough so it looks like yours.”

Spock nods and does so as fast as he can. They really must hurry, the Rally call is still going on but soon it will silence--and when it does if they are in the streets wandering around, they can be arrested. He finishes the haircut, it is not perfect but at this pace, good enough. He smoothes the younger one's bangs down then trims them. 

“Alright, alright, stop fussing with it, it looks fine,” Levanek says. Spock stares at him a moment, Levanek’s pointed ears are not usually this prominent. He looks even younger with the shorter hair. 

Levanek hurries to the bathroom, ready with the shaving creme to slather over his face. He glides the straight razor over his face, but winces. “Dammit. Cut myself.”

Spock takes the blade out of his hands. “I will do it.” He quickly and efficiently shaves Levanek, then towels off the newly smooth face. Spock is unused to seeing the other so tidy--and at once he is reminded again of--

Levanek is already in the bedroom and slipping on Spock’s other uniform from the dirty pile. “I hope this doesn’t smell too bad.” He shrugs on the jacket. It is large on him but that is no matter. Levanek slips the black leather bag into his waistband. They hurry to the front door. Spock retrieves his cap from the hook. “I do not have another. You wear it.” He places it upon Levanek’s head.

*

The Rally call is still going as they enter the streets. However they do not get very far when it silences. The streets are deserted, they are the only ones out here. They walk with a purpose but know it is only a matter of time until they are stopped.

They are almost at the prison when suddenly there is a voice behind them: “Comrades. Halt.”

They turn around. Standing there is what appears to be a government agent. “Did you not hear the Rally call?”

“We did indeed hear it, Comrade, thank you. Regretfully we cannot attend. We have been recalled to work.” Spock holds up the government ID. He hopes that the officer does not ask for Levanek’s. 

After a few tense moments: “Ah, I see, Comrade. Carry on.”

They leave the government agent behind, getting closer to the looming prison ahead. “That was easy,” Levanek whispers. "Too easy."

“We do not have much time. I am certain the officer noted the name. He will check to see if the ID is stolen--double check the photo on file.”

They reach the main gate. “If it does not work,” Spock says. “That means they have discovered us. We will not get in, we will be immediately arrested.”

He holds the ID to the door sensor. It opens. 

Levanek smirks at him, then straightens himself up like a perfect prison officer. They stride through to the poorly lit main foyer. Spock can hear Levanek’s erratic breaths as they walk. The breaths grow harsher and harsher. 

Spock uses the ID for the inner door. It opens. They step through.

Levanek stifles a gasp when they are inside. They remove their shoes, leaving socks for Spock and bare feet for Levanek. They hide their shoes behind a pillar. Spock notices the younger one glancing up at the high, imposing ceilings, the archways, the brickwork and shuddering at the soul crushing dead silence. The look the younger one gives him is of abject terror: 'Oh my god...you work in this awful place?'. 

They make their way through the long corridor, to the central hub. The centurion is there, monitoring. Soundlessly Spock inches up behind him, reaches his hand to the shoulder, pinches it. The centurion crumples in Spock’s arms. He lowers him gently to the floor--not because he has any compassion for the centurion. In fact he has little to none for this sick individual--it is to not make a sound.

Levanek blinks at him a moment, but does not break the silence. Spock waves him on, leading him to the cell housing 90802EB. They pass row after row of doors. Levanek looks crisp, straight ahead, but his eyes are darting. Thinking.

They reach 90802EB’s cell. Spock again uses the government ID to open the door. 

They discover 90802EB collapsed onto the floor. 

Levanek runs over to the inmate, kneels on the bricks next to him. He digs into his bag, and draws out a small, metallic, tube shaped device. He holds it over the Human. It emits a high pitched tweeting sound. Levanek shuts off the noise with his thumb, but continues to use it. He looks at the readout, frowns. He looks up at Spock for help. They pull the inmate to a sitting position. 90802EB--James Kirk immediately fights them, screaming in a language. English. 

Spock brings his hand to the inmate’s neck, pinches it. They freeze a moment--to see if they have been overheard, but there is nothing. Levanek again digs into the bag, retrieves a device, Spock recognizes it from the clinic. A hypospray. 

Levanek checks it three times then presses it into James Kirk’s shoulder. He whispers into Spock’s ear: “I haven’t noticed any surveillance cameras in the corridors.”

“Nor have I. Odd.”

“How are you propose we get him outta here?”

Spock immediately thinks of a solution. “Body bag for the corpses.” 

Levanek nods. He holds on to the inmate and motions for Spock to go ahead. 

To obtain the body bag, it is necessary to walk down the corridor to th closet. But there are no guards to intercept him. The sole remaining member of staff, the warden, will be--should be--watching the Rally from his office. Spock selects a bag, then returns to the cell. Levanek is still cradling James Kirk. James' head is tilted back in Levanek’s hands. Spock is immediately struck--Levanek has the air of a professional who knows what he is doing. 

Spock sets the body bag on the floor, straightens it out, opens up the zipper. 

“How long does that--whatever trick you did to him-- keep him unconscious?” Levanek whispers.

“The nerve pinch does not last long.”

Levanek sets the hypo. “This will knock him out for 6 hours.”

They slip James Kirk inside the bag, zipping it around him, fastening it nearly all the way, but not quite, so that the unconscious Human will not be asphyxiated. 

Spock lifts him up and rests him over his shoulder. 

They have to time their departure just right--as soon as the alarm sounds that the Rally is over, they will need to leave immediately. Blend in with the throng of people. But they must get out of here before the shift returns to work.

They creep back down the corridor, again Levanek's eyes darting to and fro with a haunted expression on his features. They reach and then wait in the main foyer. In the dead silence, as they step back into their shoes, Spock can again hear Levanek’s harsh breaths and Kirk’s even unconscious ones. 

Suddenly there is an echo of loud footsteps.

“Who’s that?” Levanek mouths.

“The warden,” Spock mouths back. 

“Oh shit.” 

They are doomed. The footsteps draw closer and closer. They should make a run for it, but it is too late, they would be spotted. Instead they huddle back in the foyer’s shadows. Hide 90802ED behind the pillar. 

The footsteps come closer, still closer.

Then stop. 

The footsteps turn and walk back up the corridor. 

They wait on baited breath until the sound fades away. “He was not wearing his shoe covers,” Spock breathes out. 

Levanek exhales in obvious relief. He pulls Spock to him by the back of the neck, placing a kiss firmly on his mouth, then pulling away without making a sound. 

The ‘end of Rally’ alarm squawks. It is time to go.

Spock places the government ID on the reader, the door opens and they make their escape.

* 

When they reach Dr. M’Benek’s clinic they find that the front door has been torn off its hinges. 

Spock tries to hold Levanek back, forbid him from going in. Levanek shakes himself free. He enters with a glazed expression in his eyes. After a moment, Spock follows. The cupboard at the top of the stairs is moved aside. Broken up. The inner door is also removed. The clinic is empty, M’Benek is no where to be seen, nor is any other staff. There’s pools of blood. Arrested or killed, most likely. Med bottles lay about, shattered. Glass litters every surface. Equipment is strewn on the floor. Biobeds smashed. 

Levanek does a quick search, looking for intact supplies, finding a few bottles of water, a few hyposprays, hand scanners. He shoves all of this into another larger black medical bag. 

Spock adjusts the unconscious body on his shoulder. “There is nowhere else we can go--”

Levanek motions for him to keep quiet. He grabs the medical bag, they exit out the way they came. Outside it’s still dark and creeping up upon the time that Spock needs to leave for work. 

“Home,” Levanek says. 

They are lucky that no one has witnessed their return to their apartment. Spock knows fully well that returning home is foolhardy but where else can they run? Perhaps they can hide the Human here for the time being until he is healthier--if they can keep him quiet--then they can travel somewhere else, perhaps get past the checkpoints out of town and into the lands beyond. They have never been to the lands beyond. They have heard tell that there is wilderness beyond. They do not know of anyone who has ever left the city. 

As they enter their abode, opening up the door, it occurs to him that they are simply waiting like fools for arrest. The government will surely trace James Kirk back here. But they cannot transport this man in his condition.

Levanek is unzipping the body bag on their bed--scanning James Kirk, digging in his bag. “Go to work,” he tells Spock. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry.”

“Work? I....”

“Things will be crazy at the prison. You’ll be actively involved in attempting the locate the escaped prisoner. Then after work you’ll pick up your ‘Goodfood’ and ale, like always.” Levanek reaches over, squeezes Spock's hand. He removes Spock’s cap from his own head, and places it upon Spock's. "Just like always, Spock."

Spock nods. He pauses to gaze at James Kirk. He takes a moment to run a finger down the slack face. 

_I have been and always shall be_ \-- 

“I shall be home late, Levanek. I will see you tonight.”

“Make sure you get rid of that Government ID. Wipe your prints off, stuff it in a drain.”

“Obviously.”

He exits, leaving James Kirk with Levanek.


	12. Chapter 12

As soon as James Kirk regains consciousness and opens his eyes--bright electric blue and bloodshot--he’s screaming. 

Levanek finds himself frantically trying to keep him quiet. He’s not so worried that a neighbor cares about the screams themselves, it’s James’ oddly alien voice crying out in a language he cannot understand--but somebody else might or wonder who their visitor is. James appears even younger than Levanek. He’s shaved bald, badly beaten, his face and body covered in bruises and cuts. He has undergone severe emotional trauma. 

“No wonder,” Levanek mutters. “Living in solitary confinement for that length of time. Anybody would go insane--”

“Gllahrahrehiehr! GGEBES! BSSSOENE! SEJERJE!” James Kirk screams out. 

“Shhhh, shhh.” Levanek comes near, sits on the bed.

“Spock! Spock! Spock!” 

Levanek starts at that. James is crying out Spock’s name? James squirms and thrashes on the bed, knocking the blanket off himself revealing his naked body. Levanek puts it back over him. He had already removed that smelly, disgusting prison jumpsuit and changed out of Spock’s prison guard outfit.

He reaches over and touches the Human’s forehead, it’s sweaty. James moans. He seems to like this contact. It calms him down considerably. 

James again murmurs something unintelligible: “Bones...Bones...Bones....” 

Levanek still does not understand. “It’s alright, James,” he breathes out. “Spock will be back soon.”

James suddenly grabs his hand, clamping it tight and won’t let go. “Spock?” he squawks out.

“Spock,” Levanek repeats.

There’s a slight smile on James’ cut lips. “Spock.” He lets go of Levaneks hand, finally. Levanek medical bag is on the other side of the room. He extricates himself from James and makes his way towards--

“No! No! No!” James screams out.

Levanek comes back over and sits down on the bed, touching him again, the flushed face, the round ears, the bald head--to try to reassure him. “I have to get my bag. You need treatment.” He tries to break away again but James screams, the skin turning a shade of crimson, the veins standing out on his neck and face.

“No! Shhhhh. “Levanek slides his arm around the Human, who immediately calms down at the contact. “Fine, you don’t get your tri-ox compound until I can knock you out again, I guess, or when Spock comes home.”

“Spock,” James says in the most pitiful, heartbreaking tone. 

“Spock,” Levanek repeats. “You know Spock?”

“Spock,” James says.

“Spock,” Levanek says.

“Spock,” James says, with a slight smile. Then a tear runs down his face. “Spock.”

Levanek caresses James’ face with his free hand. “Spock. It’s alright. I’ll look after you until Spock comes home.”

“Spock,” James says.

“Spock,” Levanek says. He holds up a finger to his lips to shush the Human. 

James seems to understand this gesture and whispers: “Spock.”

*

Finally after several hours James has fallen asleep. The guy had finally dozed off in Levanek’s arms. Now Levanek can get up and safely move around the apartment. He’ll want to make something to eat for their guest and also have supper ready for Spock. First he goes to the bathroom for an overdue piss. 

He searches for his medical bag--which is not in the bedroom as he’d thought, but in the kitchen, on the table. Before he can reach it however, he feels a presence pressed against his back, the cold blade of a butcher knife at his throat. 

Levanek freezes. “I’m trying to help you, dammit.”

“Goueoe yougjerje aehlthelel,” James says. “Ghserej ejerle ereij.”

“Put the knife down. Put the fucking knife down, you fucking crazy motherfucker.” 

James lets out a guttural laugh. “Sehe byoue!”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, you’re gonna get us all arrested. The walls have ears,” Levanek hisses. James holds the knife tighter against his neck.

Levanek tenses at the touch of the sharp blade. Fuck the praetor this naked mad man’s gonna slit his fucking throat if he doesn’t do something. He reaches up as quick as a flash and grabs James’ wrist, twisting himself out of the death grasp and vying for that butcher knife. The knife winds up slashing his hand before James drops it. Levanek grunts out with the pain. The blood pours out of him. “Fuck.” He stares at it.

James sees the blood and immediately relaxes, stops wanting to attack. “Seieobe!” he says.

“Yeah, you fucking bastard,” Levanek says. “You cut me. Nice job, huh? No don’t dip your finger in my blood.”

“Sixretui,” James says.

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking bastard, it’s red, like yours.” Levanek has his hand clamped on the wound. “Now I’m gonna fucking bleed out, thanks to you.”

James, the concern evident in those electric blue eyes, digs in the medical bag. Offers up a bandage. Levanek takes it from him. He shoos the nusance away, then digs into the bag himself, finds some astringent while keeping his hand pressed against the wound to stem the heavy bleeding. 

James seems anxious to help now. Levanek caves in and lets James wrap the bandage on him. Which James seems to do, expertly.

“Alright, alright,” Levanek pushes him away. “It’ll be fine.”

James stares into his eyes a moment, tilting his head. He opens his mouth to speak it seems but then closes it.

Levanek points to his chest. “Levanek,” he says. “My name. I’m not gonna hurt you, alright. So no more crazy shit.” 

“Bones,” James says.

Levanek shakes his head. “No. Levanek. Levanek.”

James seems to understand. He nods then touches his own chest. “Jim.”

“Jim,” Levanek repeats. 

Levanek nods towards the bedroom, grabs Jim’s arm leading him there. Instead of merely getting into bed himself, Jim drags him in too. “Dammit, I gotta--” Levanek protests but Jim doesn’t understand. Jim grabs hold of his shoulder then reaches over to pet Levanek’s hair.

“I guess this is your way of telling me, ‘sorry’?” Levanek says.

* 

He jolts awake. He’d dozed off. Funny how since he’d quit the Opium he sleeps much deeper. He panics a moment. James (or Jim) has most likely run off--but, no there’s movement beside him. The bed is shaking. He glances over and finds Jim masturbating. The Human’s hand is circled around his cock, jerking it frantically. Jim’s face is contorted into an agonized grimace. The act doesn’t seem to bring him much pleasure. Jim’s belly is coated in semen, as is the blanket. 

Levanek reaches out and smacks the Human in the arm. “Stop that. Look at the mess you’re making.”

Jim still has his hand around his own cock, but he does stop the motion. There’s suddenly a look in his eyes, something feral and unnerving.

Levanek retreats out of bed but Jim is suddenly clawing at him. Pulling him back. 

“Dammit--” Jim yanks off Levanek’s shirt, tearing it. “No, no, no!” He fights back but Jim is the stronger one, able to rip his trousers off. Jim pins him to the bed and it doesn’t matter how many times he protests, Jim still does not stop. Jim flips him onto his stomach, crawls on top of him. Jim is heavy, the weight pins him down. “Wait! Wait. Wait.” Levanek’s hand flails out, finally landing on the glass jar of the coconut oil, twisting open the lid, letting it spin away onto the floor. “Use this--alright?” He’s grateful that Jim does seem to in fact, seem to understand what he wants and dips two fingers in, coating his cock in it, before dropping the jar with a crack. Without preamble, and to the sounds of Levanek’s sharp grunts, Jim shoves his hard cock into Levanek.

Jim is bigger than everyone else who has fucked him. Jim furrows his way in, forcing it deep. It doesn’t last long though, thank the Praetor before the Human is squirting deep into his ass.

The first time hurt like hell as he knew it would. But almost immediately there’s another round. This time he's been stretched and lubed with Jim’s semen it isn’t as bad, he can tolerate it. It feels good actually and he even has his own orgasm. But the third time, no this is ridiculous he’s torn up and fucking stop but Jim overpowers him and the fourth time, it’s excruciating and the fifth and the sixth and the seventh he’s being chased around the apartment, he ‘s clawing for the butcher knife which gets knocked aside. He’s resorting to begging the Human to stop, please fucking stop, I’ll give you a blow job you son of a bitch but Jim has no fucking idea what he's pleading. Jim finally corners him in the kitchen, takes him right on the floor, forces his way in yet again. 

As soon as he comes, Jim immediately, finally drops to the ground, unconscious. 

Levanek pants for long moments, watching the body lay there, hissing at the rawness inside of him. “I should just kill you now you fucking bastard.” He creeps over to the bathroom-- he feels like crawling but no he staggers-- wiping up the blood and semen. 

He staggers back to the kitchen, looks like the guy is gonna be out for a while. He drags the Human to the bedroom. He cannot help but notice how light Jim is.

*

Spock comes through the door of the apartment to find Levanek cooking the evening meal with a scowl on his face. 

Spock nears him. Levanek shies away. Levanek smells like--

“He’s sleeping,” Levanek grits out.

“Ah. Why are you limping, Beloved?”

Levanek lets out a dejected, broken noise in response. He shakes his head. 

*

Jim shovels in his food with his hands, avoiding the fork. When he cleans his plate he picks it up, licking it, then sucking on his own fingers. He never takes his eyes off of Spock. Levanek watches this a moment, then pushes his plate towards James. Spock pushes his half consumed food towards Levanek. 

“No, Spock. Eat.”

“You are too thin.”

Levanek deliberately changes the subject. “How was work today?” 

“Solag’e De’ackmar, the government agent, has been arrested. It is only a matter of time before the government tortures a description of the person who stole his ID. Traces Jim back here.”

Levanek does not respond to that. He gets up out of his seat. Looks out of the window. “The moon. What’s wrong with the moon?”

“The warden discovered that I did not attend last night’s rally. My pay has been docked for this infraction. This was only a warning. Next time I shall be arrested.”

Jim intently watches Spock sip ale from a glass. Levanek pours water into a glass for Jim but he doesn't seem to want it.

"Are you thirsty?" Levanek asks Jim. "Thirsty? Drink if your thirsty. It's water, it's alright. You don't want ale--" Before he can finish Jim is already up and over to the sink. The Human picks up another drinking glass and opens up the faucet.

Levanek darts over to him, smacking his hand away. “No!” He shows the liquid to Jim, attempting to show the human that only putrid brown tinged water comes out of the taps. “Don’t drink that shit.” He hands over an entire bottle of water. “This.” He mimes drinking it.

Jim shrugs, grabs the bottle and downs it, his throat moving as he gulps.

“Must you use violence, Levanek?” Spock pours out another measure of blue ale for himself. “Jim has suffered enough. He obviously has the presence of mind to know that water comes from a tap.”

Levanek comes over to the table. He slams his hand down on it. Spock does not respond. Merely keeps sipping on his ale. Levanek throws him a dagger filled look. Spock simply meets his eyes. After a moment Levanek turns to Jim again who seems to be watching them, smirking. Jim keeps drinking from the bottle, getting water down his chin, dripping onto the floor. 

Levanek sighs. “I’m gonna have to buy some more water at the bazaar--at this rate.” He reaches over and pulls the glass of blue ale away from Spock, pouring it down the drain. Spock lights up a cigarette. Levanek takes it out of his mouth. Spock grabs it back and replaces it in his mouth. Jim watches this wordless struggle with a bemused expression.

After supper, Levanek shoots Jim with a hypo of tri-ox compound. As long as Spock is touching him, he does not fidget or fight. As Levanek treats him, Jim babbles out: “Bones. Spock. Bones. Spock. Bones. Spock. Spock. Spock.”

“Jim,” Spock replies. 

“He knows you,” Levanek says. “Knows your name, at least.” 

Jim is now snuggled against Spock, kissing his neck and jaw, touching his hair. Unbelievably, Spock is allowing this to happen. “I do know know how he knows my name.” 

“Maybe he’s heard it before. Spoken at the prison.”

“Perhaps.”

*

Levanek dries the dishes. Slow and deliberate. 

Spock had accompanied Jim into the bathroom to help him with his bath. It seems to be taking longer than it should. Levanek dries another dish. Probably because Jim is fighting the bath. 

Levanek sets down the dish and towel. “Spock,” he hisses through the closed bathroom door. “Everything alright in there?”

The door opens. Spock and Jim come out. Spock’s hair is sopping wet. “Everything is fine, Levanek.”

*

Bedtime is going to be interesting. There is no where else for any of them to sleep in this apartment but on the bed. The three of them together will be crammed in tight. 

“You sleep with him,” Levanek says. “I’ll take the floor.” 

Spock nuzzles at Levanek’s neck. Sniffing. Levanek pushes him away and gets out of bed. 

“Sleep here, Levanek. None of us are going to recline on the floor. There are rats and roaches crawling about.”

“So what?”

“Levanek.” Spock motions for him to hush and come forth. 

Levanek capitulates and gets into bed on one side of Spock. Jim is on the other side of Spock, closest to the wall. Jim seems to have removed his clothes that Levanek had so painstakingly selected for him to wear. Jim snuggles up into the crook of Spock’s arm. 

Levanek eyes this but says nothing. Instead he whispers: “Do all Human’s have round ears and flat eyebrows or is it just him?”

“I do not know.”

“Dr. M’Benek--said he was surgically altered--maybe the same thing happened to me--” Levanek halts and stares. 

In the darkness, the room lit by the neon advertisement across the way, his eyes have adjusted and he sees:

Jim stroking Spock’s cock.

“You’re just gonna let him do that?” Levanek watches Spock harden in Jim’s grasp. “Why are you--”

“Shhh, Levanek. Remove your clothes.”

“No, Spock. First of all, not in front of the Human and second of all, I’m sore, i’m already full of come, I’ve been shitting it out all evening--this asshole has already forced himself on me seven times in a row, I’m not--”

“Come here, Levanek.”


	13. Chapter 13

Spock opens his eyes. Levanek is not in bed but Jim is still curled up. He manages to extricate himself out of Jim’s clutches and stand up without waking their guest. He begins to cough as he goes into the bathroom and relieves himself. He puts on his robe.

Levanek is in the kitchen buttering a piece of bread. “Good morning,” Spock says, sitting down at the table.

Levanek glares back at him.  Hands him a plate with a steaming hot mug.

“Te...a?” Spock says that word a bit too hoarse. He clears his throat. “Tea?” he says a bit more understandably, then coughs some more.

“You need to quit smoking.”

“I am coming down with a virus.”

“The hell you are.”

Spock sips at his tea. Notes that the younger one is not sitting down but leaning against the counter watching him.

“Give the word, Spock, when you want to steal on out of here. I’m ready,” Levanek says.

“Not yet, Beloved.”

Levanek bares his teeth in a snarl. “Why not?”

“Jim is--”

“He’s doing better, right? Right? All this ‘sex’ and affection we’re giving him--it’s helping. Right? That’s what he needs, you said. Time and affection to emotionally heal. To stop behaving like a lunatic.”

“He had not had much contact with anyone in prison. His compromised mental state is understandable.”

“It's gonna take much longer than we can afford. We can’t stay here. You said so yourself, they’re gonna trace him back here. We’re risking arrest the longer we hang around. I think we should leave tonight.”

“One more day, Beloved.”

“Why are you procrastinating, Old Man? Oh, I get it. You WANT to stay here. You WANT to be caught.” Levanek begins to pace back and forth. “Maybe this is a trick. Maybe you’re really a government spy, and trying to trap me into arrest. Let the Human rape me repeatedly to get your sick jollies then you’ll turn me in.” Levanek slams his hand down on the table. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll kill you before I get arrested!”

“Shhh.”

“Fuck you. That’s it, I’m out of here.”

Spock calmly gets out of his chair. He creeps up on the younger one. “You are staying. We shall go when I say we will.”

“We go now or else I go now!”

“You will not.” Spock pushes the younger one against the wall, pinning him there. “You will stay here and look after him while I am at work. Now is not the time. Have patience.”

Levanek reaches out to strike him. Spock catches his wrist. He holds up his other hand and slaps the younger one hard across the face.

Levanek’s head jerks back with the blow. His eyes become glassy. He immediately tries to wriggle away from Spock. They struggle, Levanek flips himself around, but Spock flips him back and smashes him hard against the wall again then yet again.

Levanek's eyes widen. He is obviously terrified and it breaks Spock’s heart. “You want to kill me, Spock? Go ahead!”

Spock immediately releases him.

Levanek gets away, rubbing his jaw. “You’ve never hit me before.”

“Forgive me." He stares into those green-brown eyes.  Levanek's are dead, lifeless.  "I must get ready for work.”

Spock bathes then dresses in his uniform. He feels such...despondence in the pit of his stomach--which is illogical, emotions do not emanate from that area, but the rawness inside of him suggests something has been torn out of it. They did the right thing, rescuing Jim. Why can he do no more? Why is he hesitating? He walks out to the kitchen and sees Levanek at the window.

He comes up next to him. The moon is still dark red. “Levanek, One more day. Wait it out one more day, then we leave. Be patient.”

“You have no idea what to do,” Levanek notes. “You have no plan.”

“Tomorrow night,” Spock promises. “We shall steal out of the city.”

“What’s beyond the city?”

“I do not know. No one has ever left.”

“What about the people who disappear?”

“Arrested.”

“I heard there’s a wilderness beyond the city. Green grass, countryside. Better than this godforsaken place!”

“Who did you hear this from?”

“Just talk at the bazaar.”

‘Did Dr. M’Benek tell you this?”

“What do you think happened to him--did they kill him?”

“Unknown.”

*

Levanek yawns as he tidies up the kitchen, gathering up laundry. Ignoring the pain.

All night long Spock and Jim had passed him back and forth between them. ‘Jim needs the sexual contact. It is beneficial for Jim’s mental state and necessary for his healing’. He is dubious about this but he begrudgingly consented. However, Spock wasn’t content to simply watch and allow Jim to fuck the hell out of him. No. Each time after Jim climaxed, Spock had to overwrite Jim’s scent and semen with his own--why Spock had that particular possessive obsession, he knew not. But Jim would watch them go at it and get hard then pounce on Levanek and the cycle would start all over again.

He glances over at the bedroom. Hopefully Jim will sleep in till midday so he can get stuff done around here. But as he turns back to the dishes there’s arms sliding around his waist, strong arms yanking him back towards the bedroom, tearing off his clothes, throwing him onto the bed.

“Fuck the Praetor, I’m ripped to shreds! Leave me alone.”

Suddenly, there is a loud knock at the front door. Levanek and Jim freeze. Jim lets go. Levanek sits up, hurries his trousers back on. He holds a finger to his lips. Mimes for Jim to stay in the bedroom.

Levanek goes to the door. “Who is it?”

No answer. He hesitates. Is it the police? But they sure as hell wouldn’t knock. He opens it.

He groans inwardly. It’s that slimy concierge. “Greetings, Comrade.” He puts on a air of casual annoyance, but having this creep at his door seriously freaks him out. He stuffs down the fear to the pit of his stomach. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he grates out.

“Me.”

“What is it you want, Comrade?”

The concierge smiles. Once again exposing those missing teeth. “Had some complaints from the neighbors, you see.” The concierge darts his head, trying to see over Levanek’s arm blocking the doorway. “Sounds of fucking.”

“Fucking?” Levanek scoffs, hoping the concierge can’t see the pink bite marks on his shoulder and neck.

“Fucking. Wouldn’t be between you and your grandfather, unless you were into that sort of thing. And that would be against the rules.”

Levanek taps his finger on the door jam. “Thank you, Comrade.” He begins to close the door.

“Just a moment, Comrade. Have you got any overnight visitors? Those carry a fee of 50 credits a day.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.”

“I don’t have any overnight visitors, sorry.”

“You know, instead of paying the required 50 credits, you could uh--”

Levanek begins to shut the door again but there’s a boot stuck out intercepting it. The concierge chuckles. “Not so fast. This came for you.” He digs into his waistband and draws out an envelope.

Levanek wrinkles up his nose. He knows damn well what it must have been nestled next to.

He takes it with two fingers then slams the door in the concierge's face.

*

In between the rounds of fucking, he feeds Jim the last of their food, who devours it like nobody’s business. Jim's refractory periods are getting longer and longer and Levanek is grateful. He's sore--in agony-- but he can’t fight off this Human and Spock...well... There’s gotta be a better way, he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

Jim starts following him around the apartment, pointing to things. Questions in those bright blue eyes. Levanek tells Jim the Ri’hansu word for each object. In response, Jim says the English word.

Jim points down, miming a shape of a world.

“Prema,” Levanek tells him. “You’re on Prema.”

Jim tilts his head then looks out the window. Points at the moon.

“That’s Romulus. It’s been like that for weeks--that awful rust color,” Levanek explains, knowing Jim cannot understand.

“Corpse,” Jim says, pointing again at it.

Levanek shakes his head.

He’s got trousers on to fix Jim a snack but no shirt. Jim points to the pointy ears, shakes his head. Then points to his visible ribs. “Bones.”

“Bones?”

Jim nods vigorously. “Bones.”

Levanek smiles. “Bones. I get it--I’m too thin, right?”

“Leonard McCoy,” Jim says.

*

Spock waits in line for his allotment of two cans of ‘Goodfood’, the bottle of ale and the carton of Gitanes.

_I have been and always shall be--_

He takes a step forward in the grim, silent line. He glances over at the advertisement: The giggly schoolgirl holding up the spoon, the text ‘Goodfood’ is good food for you. Another advertisement on the opposite brick wall, says: “Mom says, ‘eat your Goodfood’.”

_I have been and always shall be--_

He takes another step forward. Looks up at the dim, rusty moon. The crackling of the tele screen says prisoner 90802ED is sure to be located. They cannot get far. The party responsible for breaking him out of prison is being tortured for information at this very moment. More exciting news will come soon.

Spock already knew all of this--heard the screams of the tortured (innocent) government agent. His behavior--his desire to spring Jim out of prison has resulted in this. Resulted in putting Levanek’s life in danger as well. It is illogical to have done what he did, yet he did. And why?

 _Jim. I have been and always shall be...yours_.

It takes him a moment to realize he is muttering audibly.

Not in Ri’hansu, but in English.

*

He returns to the apartment. Levanek is there, tapping his foot, ready with the shopping bag. “Your turn to babysit.”

Jim comes up close, sliding his arms around him. “Spock.”

“Yes,” Spock replies. “I am here, Jim.”

“Spock.”

“He’s been saying your name all day. And ‘Leonard’ and the word ‘Bones’.”

 

_Those blue eyes blink at him. ‘Sorry, Spock.’_

_Leonard’s are blue and Jim’s eyes are hazel, like his own._

_‘I believe Jim would say...‘forget it, Bones’--_

 

“Spock?” Levanek is saying. “Spock!”

He looks back at the two figures. Levanek’s eyes are green/brown, Jim’s eyes are blue. Those colors are interchanged, wrong.

“Spock.”

“Yes, Levanek.”

An envelope, already opened, is passed over to him. “Hospital bill. We owe one thousand credits.”

“Illogical, we do not pay for medical care in Starfleet.”

Levanek snaps his fingers. “Spock. Spock, listen to me. Look who signed the invoice.”

“Dr. M’Benga,” Spock whispers.

“No. Not Dr. M’Benga, Spock. Pay attention.” He taps the paper with his finger. “It’s not even M’Benek the med tech--it’s somebody else.” Levanek has a desperate tone, but sounds so far away, as if he is calling down from up top a hill. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Spock tilts his head. “He’s dead, Jim.”

 

There’s a confused look clouding Levanek's face. “Jim can’t understand you, Old Man. Why are you telling him? What the hell’s wrong with you? I think it’s your concussion. Tonight I’m gonna check you over with M’Benek’s scanner.”

“The tri-corder, yes, yes....”

“I have to go to the bazaar, Spock. We need food.”

“The ship, we must return to the ship.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, Levanek’s. The touch brings him to reality. “See you later.”

*

He’s grateful that Spock doesn’t ask how’s he’s gonna pay for the food, as there’s barely enough credits left. He’s not gonna turn a trick, not gonna do it, just can’t and he’s sore as fuck anyway. He pays for some things then lifts the other things when the shopkeepers are distracted.

He passes by Madame Tui’s. Stops.

Fuck the Praetor, he misses the den so much. He’d love a pipe, just one. That delicious sweet smoke. The beautiful flower. Why he thought it was a good idea to quit is beyond him.

He’ll stop at one pipe and that will be it. Yes. Just one. For old times sake.

Then he’ll quit completely.

Just this once won’t hurt.

He’s about to pay the coins to enter when there’s a crackle on the nearby tele-screen.

The giggly woman says: “ _Exclusive! Exclusive! News update on the escaped prisoner. The man arrested in conjunction has confessed that he was not alone in his deeds. He has given a description of the culprit....”_

There’s a artists rendition of the suspect.

And it’s him. His face with long hair.

“ _This man is considered armed and dangerous, police are now--”_

Oh shit. Oh, SHIT!

He hurries off, head down, bound for home.


	14. Chapter 14

“I have been and always shall be--” Spock begins in Ri'hansu. He lays on the bed with Jim, both of them nude, in each other's arms.

"Yours," Jim says, finishing the phrase for him in English.

"Yours," Spock repeats. "Yes, Jim. That is correct. I am yours," he replies also in English. He hitches a breath. He feels an unusual flutter in his stomach. Butterflies as perhaps Levanek would have described.

Then another word comes to him... maybe he has said it before without knowing its meaning: _T’hy’la._ It is a whisper from a strange land. Perhaps this word is from that long lost book, perhaps not. Friend, brother, lover. The word is Vulkhansu, that much he knows, the word is his own from his home. The home planet that he has never seen, never will see. Ever. Jim knows this as well, those deep blue eyes (that the color should be incorrect somehow but they are so beautiful) are sad. The eyes are wise. They know. Those orbs are as azure as the Earth World's sky, as its oceans, as its blue birds.

He is entranced. His fingers move to the meld points--perhaps this will help, tell him something, help Jim, help himself. Allow both of them remember who they really are. They must remember. He is desperate.

After a moment, he lowers his hand. Perhaps he does not know what he is doing, how to perform the meld properly. The act does not help them recollect at all, but now he is aroused, painfully tumescent, seduced and he must have this one.

The sex-- _their lovemaking_ \-- will cover up the anguish of not remembering.

*

“Spock, we gotta--” Levanek stops short inside the apartment. The light is on in the kitchen, but there’s noises coming from the bedroom. Moans. The bed is squeaking. He sniffs at the air. There is the unmistakable odor of sex wafting through. Jim and Spock? He shuts the front door delicately, cringing at the loud squeak it makes when he pushes it closed. He creeps across the floor, fighting down a twinge of jealousy. They’ve never had any agreement of exclusivity but this is the first time that he can remember Spock fucking anybody else without him around.

He should wait in the kitchen till it’s over with. There a sharp cry out followed by another longer drawn out one. Spock’s voice. Spock’s never made that sound with him. He really shouldn’t spy, but he can’t help it. He inches closer to the bedroom.

Spock’s voice again. Murmurs out an odd sounding word: " _T’hy’la_ ".

What the hell is is that? He’s never heard it before, doesn’t sound like Ri’hansu. A term of endearment? It must be, for Spock keeps repeating it like a mantra.

He goes to the bedroom doorway.

Spock is laying on his side, eyes closed, head tilted back. Jim is behind Spock, thrusting into him, slow and steady. Jim is fucking Spock?

He watches but feels a pang. As if a knife has been pierced into his heart. Why he feels this way, he does not know, Spock has a right to be penetrated--and it does not look like he’s being forced into this, he looks like he wants it. Spock is completely relaxed, his hair is mussed. Spock’s hand suddenly reaches back behind him to Jim’s face, fingers searching out the mind meld points--

Levanek turns away and tiptoes back into the kitchen.

He sits down at the table but stands back up. Something inside him hardens. There’s a sharp gnawing burning pain in his stomach. It would be best if he went away. Left them to be together. He’s a wanted criminal anyway.  He’s fucked.  There is only a matter of time before somebody recognizes him and turns him in if he sticks around. The longer he stays here, he’s putting the both of them in danger. It would be best to go.

He finds a piece of paper.  The back of the envelope of the hospital bill. He needs to say goodbye at least. He finds a pen, it’s barely got any ink but he manages to scribble out:  ‘ _Spock, I love you, but_ \--’

Dammit. He scribbles it out much more viciously than he had intended to making a hole in the envelope. He finally crumbles it up leaves it to lay on the counter. Spock doesn’t want to read something like that. Mushy shit.

Before he can get up to leave, the lights in the kitchen cut out leaving him in darkness.

Fuck.

He chews on his lip. Spock and Jim are gonna need light to wash up when they’re...finished. They don’t realize it now, but they will.

“I’ll go down and put a coin in the meter,” he whispers. He doesn’t normally do that, go down there to feed that damned meter.  Spock always does. But he will this time. Who else can do it? Then he’ll leave directly from the basement. Steal out the main door.

He knows fully well somebody will recognize him outside. They’ll turn him in. There’s probably a reward in it. At least he won’t be here to incriminate anyone and the government sure as shit ain’t gonna get any confession outta him no matter how much they torture him.

He fumbles in the dark to the kitchen counter. He grabs the butcher knife.  Feels around for the candle. That basement is dark and creepy, he’ll need that. He lights the candle.  

As quietly as he can he sneaks out the front door.

It’s pitch black in the staircase. He wonders why. Did the whole building’s electricity go out? Citywide power outage? Are they under attack? There’s been no siren to alert them. Better go down to the basement anyway.

He’s terrified but he keeps his feet moving down those stairs. He holds the butcher knife out in front of him, point down, ready to stab an attacker taking advantage of the darkness, just in case. Holds up the candle. Doesn’t really illuminate much but it’s better than nothing.

He’s made it to the landing of the stairs right before the final desent into the laundry room when he feels a sharp prick penetrate his skin. Something stabbing into his neck. He gasps. He cannot move. The candle falls from his grasp. The light goes out as it hits the cement stairs. He drops his butcher knife. It clatters at his feet.

Immediately there’s the rush of something, stinging as it flows...entering... his... veins....

*

It’s too hot in here, feels like the pit of hell.  He wants to get out, but he can only move as if he is in slow motion.  This enforced relaxation.

The walls, they’re sweating. The walls are moist and squishy... when he presses on them his hands sink into the walls. Damn the Praetor, the walls, they suck up his hands. His goddamned hands. Didn’t someone tell him once that he had the hands of a surgeon?

He pulls his hands back... there’s a handprint indentation. Funny. A small hand sized indent. Hands. Hands. Hands. If the indentation was turned upside down and larger, much larger or if he was the size of a rat--he could fill it up with water and swim in it. Do rats swim? Well he’d be a person not a rat but rat-sized and maybe the rats would try to eat him or fuck him because he is so small or a cat would bat him around like prey...

Maybe if he’s a rat (or rat sized) he’ll get eaten by a cat and the cat will get eaten by a snake and the snake will be eaten by an elephant and the elephant will be eaten by a...

Wow...ohwowohwow....when he runs his hands down the side of the wall along the staircase he leaves a line. A line of finger. Blood and meat and bone. His finger is filing down. You don’t want to lose your finger do you? How else will you point? You can’t point if it’s filed down to the Bones.

Captain. Jim. Where are you. I’m at the coordinates and you don’t come. I’ve been waiting and waiting in this hellhole for years and you still don’t come. It’s so hot.

“ _Oh my God. I’m Bones. Bones McCoy. Dr. Leonard McCoy. That’s me._ ”

Captain says remove my clothes if I’m too hot. Like Simon. Can’t do anything unless Simon says. Simon says take off my shirt, simon says take off my trousers. Take off my boots, take off my underwear. He laughs. You tried to trick me. You didn’t say Simon says. Okay, Simon says.

oh now that he’s naked there’s lots and lots of hands coming out of the walls he’s pressed against the wall and the hands pin him there, fingers sliding into his mouth, his rectum, scissoring him open, a pinky in his urethral opening oh it hurts....

Now he’s walking down the corridor with Spock. Spock walks just a bit in front of him. They’re equals. Mostly. Department heads. Men of science with equal capabilities. He likes to think so. Though he knows deep down that Spock is more intelligent than he. Spock has a doctorate but doesn’t use the title. If he did he’d be Dr. Spock. Wasn’t there an ancient earth baby doctor named Dr. Spock? He, Levanek, has a title and two names...three actually. Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy. And he has a nick name, Bones, so actually he has four names. But Doctors are forbidden. Two names and definitely three and surely four are not allowed. Four is scandalous. The government says so.

And they have military titles too. Spock is Commander. Bones--and he is Bones-- is Lieutenant Commander. So Spock gets to walk just a hair’s breath in front. He gives him that. His way of showing respect to the hobgoblin. Why does he call Spock a hobgoblin. Because Spock has them pointy ears. Well, he’s a hobgoblin too. No he isn’t. He doesn’t have pointy ears. When they come to a doorway. Or the turbolift. Ol’ pointy eared Spock gets to walk though first. And Jim gets to walk right out in front. He’s the captain. The captain gets to walk in front of everybody.

But are they walking?  Or floating.

He might be imagining things but suddenly he’s air born. He’s moving. But not under his own power. Feels like he’s being carried. Someone’s carrying him. Maybe it’s mommy carrying him. Time for feeding or a nap. Maybe it’s the captain. The captain carried him once before. Carried him away from the Vians.

Feels like he’s going down, down someplace.

Wherever he is, it’s now cold.

*

Spock awakens with a start. When had he fallen asleep?

The lights are off in the apartment. He can barely see.

“Jim?” he calls out. Jim is not here. “Leonard?” Levanek is not present either.

He grabs his clothing from the floor, jumps into it. He feels his way.  Straight for the front door. Down the stairs. He rests his hand on the knob of the main door.

No. Jim and Levanek are not outside. Perhaps Levanek went to feed the meter and Jim accompanied him to the basement. He does not know how he knows this, but that must be it.

The lights off in the stairwell. He needs the candle. He goes back up the stairs to the apartment to retrieve it.

He feels around the kitchen for the candle. It is gone. Levanek must have taken it.  No matter, he will go forth without.

He makes his way down the darkened stairs to the laundry room.  In the final landing, he trips over an object, nearly falling but manages to hold himself up on the brick wall. He feels for it, it is the candle. Their candle.

He debates a moment, then returns to the apartment.  He quickly lights the candle, then comes back down the stairs to the basement meters. No one is there but he senses...forboding, danger.

He moves further into the laundry room. Moving the candle around to see....

In one corner, there is a body lying crumpled on the filthy floor. 

The figure is unmistakeble.  Nude.  

Levanek.

 

Oh... _beloved_.  "Levanek," Spock says softly.  But the younger one does not respond.

He feels the pulse and is relieved to find that it is faint but there.  Levanek is alive but in bad shape.  Bruised and bloody and unconscious.  

There’s a howl, a guttural cry of pain just behind him.  Spock spins around.

The candlelight illuminates another figure:  Jim.  Jim!  Crouched in the corner, trembling.  One hand is curved around his own nude body.  The other hand is clutching their kitchen butcher knife.  Jim must have attacked Levanek.

No.  Spock draws closer. He notices the color of the blood on the blade. Green blood.  Not red.

Jim’s face, hands and body are covered in green blood. Green blood is also splattered everywhere on the cement floor, the walls.

Jim mouths at him: “Help me. Help me. Help me.”

“It is alright,” Spock whispers in English. The limited English he now knows. “I shall help you.  Give me the knife."

Jim shakes his head.

"Give me the knife." Spock holds out his hands.    

Jim, wide eyed, terrified after tense long moments, finally hands it over. He runs into Spock's arms, burying his head against Spock's chest.

Spock looks down and notes another body on the floor. The concierge.

He holds onto Jim but leans down to investigate further. The throat has been slit from ear to ear, the gash is deep, with transection of the thyrohyoid membrane, the epiglottis, the hypohparnix, exposing the cervical spine. Green blood has stopped flowing from the wounds. The concierge is obviously deceased. The body's hands are covered in red blood. Mottled red blood and other fluids stains the body’s clothing.

Spock looks down at Jim.

"You?"

Jim points to Levanek and wails: “ _Bones_!”


End file.
